The Irony of the Dragon Tamer
by BeautyMark
Summary: Chapter 9 Posted Set eight years after Ron graduates from Hogwarts. Ron is a skilled Dragon Keeper, but will his talents help when his Dragon decides to tame his heart? RonDraco slash Rated R for future content.
1. Chapter 1: The Dragon Tamer

_Disclaimer:_  
  
I own neither Harry Potter nor any other character or creation of J. K. Rowling. Give her credit for the characters. Give me credit for the plot.  
  
  
  
_Notes:_  
  
Hello readers. This is my first attempt at a slash fic, and my second attempt at any kind of fan fiction ever. Constructive criticism is welcomed and flames discouraged. I hope you enjoy the tale.  
  
  
  
  
  


**Chapter 1**

  
  
  
  
The sun was finally setting over the farthest hill as Ron patted the young Romanian Longhorn, urging it to return to its parents. "There, there, chap. Back to your mum." The adult female Longhorn stood and watched as Ron urged the young dragon in her direction. From afar, Charlie Weasley watched, holding his breath and muttering curses at his younger brother's audacity. "Be careful...bloody hell, Ron, that's an ornery adult female Longhorn...she'll take your head off," he said softly through his teeth, tense with worry. He knew Ron's reputation with all dragons, but there was no reason to tempt fate. Young as Ron was, at only the tender age of 25, he was the most talented dragon keeper in wizarding history. Ron's skill with the creatures surpassed many that had come before him, including his elder brother, so all Charlie could do was worry from a far distance that Ron's combination of skill and luck would maintain in this circumstance.   
  
The fledgling Romanian Longhorn had wandered too close to the small wizard village close to the base of Mt. Moldoveanu, which was bad news, should its mother come searching for it. The Weasley brothers were called upon to urge the creature back towards its homeland of the Transylvanian Alps, far from both Muggle and Wizard civilization. In the past, Charlie, in such a case, would usually resort to a stupefy charm to transport the infant dragon. However, Ron needed no such magic. It was amazing to witness how Ron's mere presence begins to tranquilize the most savage of beasts. With the Longhorn, Ron approached slowly and spoke softly, earning the attention of the dragon. The presence of most dragon keepers at such close proximity usually drives dragon behavior to become volatile and unpredictable. Dragons, especially Longhorns, have been known to lash out at keepers without warning or reason. Ron, however, happened to be the exception to the rule--so much that he simply pet the creature and earned its trust. The baby Longhorn then allowed Ron to put a collar on it and lead it to where Charlie stood.  
  
"Look, Charlie, isn't she precious?" Ron said as he led the dragon. Charlie noticed that the closer the Longhorn got to him, the more she bristled. "Sure, she's precious--so long as she's with you. Why don't you make this easy and take care of her? I'll follow at a distance so as not to aggravate her."  
  
Ron smiled and called, "Okay, if that's how you want it. But you really should see her. She's a gorgeous baby.  
  
Charlie retorted loudly, "That gorgeous baby could singe of the lower part of your body!"  
  
Ron stopped and looked at the Longhorn, which stared back at him and mewed affectionately. He grinned and picked up the dragon in his arms, to which she joyously screeched. "Aw, Charlie, she wouldn't hurt a thing!"   
  
Charlie shook his head, remembering the days earlier events. He'd wondered if today would be the day that he'd have to apparate to the Burrow to explain to his mother why her youngest son was burnt to a crisp.   
  
Now, Ron was less then fifteen feet away from the adult Longhorn, baby Longhorn in his grasp. Usually in a such case, a mother Longhorn would violently react any creature in such close proximity to her young. Once again, as with countless times before, Ron bent conventional bestiary rules as he stood next to the mother Longhorn, holding her hatchling above his head. She nuzzled it with her leathery snout. "Amazing," was all Charlie said, shaking his head. Ron left the young dragon at its mother's feet, then ran a hand across the mother's smooth golden horn that shone and glittered in the faint light of the forthcoming dusk. The mother dipped her head and nuzzled her snout into Ron's hand. Ron patted her on the top of her head, bent to pat the baby dragon, and then turned to walk away.   
  
When Ron was at a distance of about thirty feet, Charlie let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Relief washed over him as Ron approached his position, smiling. "Gods, Ron, I'll never understand it," Charlie said when Ron was able to hear him.  
  
Ron shrugged. "They are beautiful creatures, these specimens especially. You shoulda seen the young one, Charlie. She was no more than a few weeks old and bursting with curiosity. She probably would have been intimidated by you."  
  
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "When in your studies, Ronald Weasley, have you ever read of anyone being able to handle the young of any dragon as eventless and amicably as you?"   
  
Ron looked away.   
  
"She might have been friendly with you...she was just a baby."   
  
"A baby??" Charlie asked. "Look." He pointed to a large, rough scar on his left arm. "That is my proof of a lesson learned--never underestimate the power of a baby dragon. Especially a young Longhorn."   
  
Ron turned his head and rolled his eyes so Charlie couldn't see. Charlie had a scar and a story to prove to Ron why he was gifted among the caretakers of magical beasts. "Don't you see, brother? You're special," Charlie said, punching him in the arm. The corners of Ron's lip curled slightly.   
  
"You just think you're more of a man because you've got scars to prove it."   
  
Charlie laughed. "The best dragon keeper has no scars, mind you. How many scars do you have, then?"   
  
Ron shrugged. He knew he had no scars from mishaps with magical creatures. They never seemed hostile towards him. Bugger if he knew why.   
  
Charlie shook his head, convinced. "There's your proof, then. Just look at your friend, Mr. Potter, for example. How was his luck with an unfriendly dragon, those many years back? It wouldn't hold a candle to the way you handle them now."   
  
At the mention of Harry's name, Ron's mind began to wander. "I've not spoken to Harry in so long, and I've not seen him longer," he thought to himself. The last time Ron had seen Harry was at least four, if not five years ago. Not three years out of Hogwarts and the friends had been split, Harry to fight and eventually win the war against He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and his dark forces, and Ron to keep the dragons. Ron chuckled wryly at the contrast of their lives. Harry had finally defeated the Dark Lord less then two years ago, and Ron--he could befriend dragons. Mind, no one in history has ever had the ability to befriend a dragon as completely as Ron could, but that paled in comparison to defeating the Dark Forces. At least it did in Ron's mind, but that did not change the idea that popped into his head. "It's been way too long since I've seen Harry," he said aloud, more to himself than to Charlie.  
  
Charlie, however, heard. "My, if that isn't the truth. I've not seen the lad myself since the wedding."  
  
Ron chuckled and shook his head, memories of Harry's wedding to his only sister, Ginny, resurfacing. It had been such a joyous time in contrast to the dark that had followed. Harry was 20 and Ginny was 18 and fresh from Hogwarts herself. They had married only months before the Dark War had begun, and that was truly the last time that Ron had seen his friends happy and healthy.   
  
"You miss them, don't you?" Charlie asked, noticing the reminiscent look that changed Ron's visage. Ron didn't answer, and Charlie glanced over. "He looks so old, and yet so young still," Charlie mused. Ron stood a good eight inches taller than Charlie, and his hair was longer, such a deep ruddy tone of red, matching the color of the receding sun on the horizon. Clusters of freckles covered Ron's visage, and his bright blue eyes contrasted sharply to the natural shades of his appearance. His shoulders had broadened considerably due to the amount of labor he had put in with magical creatures. Charlie smiled at where his thoughts were leading him.   
  
"What?" Ron asked.   
  
"Oh, I was just thinking that you may end up looking like Hagrid."   
  
"Looking like Hagrid??" Ron exclaimed. "Are you daft???"   
  
"No, seriously. If you took a foot off of Hagrid, slimmed him down considerably, cut off the majority of his hair,...and dye the remaining minority red--"   
  
"I'd still look nothing like Hagrid!" Ron interrupted. Charlie laughed and conceded, "No, I suppose not. You win."   
  
"Of course I do," Ron said, smiling again. "Now what's my prize?"   
  
"A prize? So that's what you're after, eh? How's this? Two week's vacation."   
  
That surprised Ron. "Two weeks vacation? Just for not looking like Hagrid?"  
  
Charlie laughed. "No, brother. You work yourself ragged, and outside of myself, Pig, and a few village folk, you only talk to dragons. You need some time off, judging from the happy look you get on your face when you think about your friends. You've been isolated since, what, before the Dark War?"   
  
Ron shrugged again. "But you need me, Charlie. What if something like today happens again?"   
  
Charlie crossed his arms. "What are you implying? That I'm no longer a good keeper? I'm not nearly as skilled, but I still wield a reputable stupefy charm. I'm not that old."   
  
"I didn't nearly mean all that! I just mean...," Ron began, and then stuttered.   
  
"You just mean what? You don't know what you mean. You've known nothing but dragons since the start of the Dark War. Even dragon tamers need rest," Charlie finished, jesting.   
  
"Tosh. You can't tame a dragon," Ron said dully. He and Charlie had this argument numerous times in the past, and he loathed to begin another.   
  
"You're right," Charlie said. "I can't tame a dragon. But it seems that you can."   
  
"Tosh," Ron repeated.   
  
"Whatever you say, Ron. I just think that you need some time off," Charlie said, holding his hands up as a sign of surrender.   
  
The thought tickled Ron's fancy immediately. "You know, I think I might. I'll owl Harry today and see if he'll let me stay with--"   
  
"Let you stay??? Come on, Ron, this is Harry and Ginny! Why don't you just pack up and floo over tonight?"   
  
Another pleasing idea. "Okay, I will," Ron said, and smiled.  
  
Charlie returned his smile, then laid a hand on his shoulder. "Go ahead then, pack. Get out of Romania for a while and back to England, where I won't have to worry about you losing a limb."  
  
Ron laughed and began to turn, but doubled back and hugged his brother. "Thanks, Charlie. This means a lot."  
  
Charlie smirked and said, "I know. Now get your arse out of here."   
  


***

  
  
Ron had his things packed and ready to go. He had given Pig, now fully grown, handsome, and a beloved companion, a letter to take to Harry's house so he wouldn't have to worry about the bird splicing while he was traveling. He packed his belongings and magically minimized them for travel. He looked at his wand lovingly, for it was practically new. He had bought it especially for himself once he had established himself as a dragon keeper. He had broken two wands in his career at Hogwarts, and although the second was special, his current wand was his favorite. It was from Ollivander's, and he adored it. It was made from oak, 14" long, and contained the heartstring of a Chinese Fireball Dragon. He had never felt so comfortable with a wand before. Placing the wand back under his robes, Ron grabbed a handful of floo powder and stepped into his fireplace. "Potter Loft!" he enunciated clearly, and disappeared from his home in a flash of green flame.   
  
Seconds later, he arrived in the large and lush fireplace of one Harry Potter. Ron stepped out of the fireplace, preparing to yell a greeting to the residents of the loft until action on the couch caught his attention. Ron's eyes widened as he realized what was going on.   
  
"Oy! I stop by for a visit after years, and am greeted by my best friend snogging my damn sister!"   
  
Harry and Ginny jumped apart immediately, and Harry blushed like he'd been caught doing something embarrassing. Both were flustered and confused for a moment, until Ginny jumped off the couch and exclaimed, "Ron! You've finally come to visit!" She threw her arms around her brother.  
  
Harry quickly regained his senses and followed suit, throwing his arms around his best friend. "Bloody hell, Ron! It's been too long!"  
  
Ron laughed and said, "Aye, it has. I'll blame Charlie for not giving me a holiday sooner."  
  
Ginny almost burst. "You blame Charlie??? Its you who's so persistent with those dragons! What did he do? Kick you out?"   
  
Ron laughed again. "No. We just decided that a holiday for me is long over-due. And Transylvania's awfully boorish this time of year."   
  
Harry laughed at that. "I'll agree to that! I've not been to Romania since...," and he trailed off, not wanting to bring up the Dark War and all things that it negatively connotes.  
  
"Aye, I remember," Ron said after a moment. It had been a bleak moment in the war where the Dark Lord had fled to the Carpathian mountain range to begin to plot once again. Ron had not seen Harry then, but learned of his visit through the post. There was silence for a moment, and then Ron cleared his throat.  
  
"Well, Harry, Ginny, what wonderful events have I interrupted, besides your snogging session?"  
  
Harry laughed and blushed again as Ginny turned to look at the clock.   
  
"My, how time flies," she said, turning back to Harry. "He'll be here any minute!"   
  
"He?" questioned Ron, but Ginny didn't hear as she turned brusquely to attend to other matters. "What is she talking about, Harry?"   
  
"Well," Harry drawled, "I suppose you'll find out momentarily. Tell me, will you be staying with us for any length of time?" Ron's expression showed annoyance at first, and Harry said, "Wait, that's not what I mean. You're welcome to stay with us, Ron, you know that. Blimey, we've got guest rooms galore here. I just wanted to know so that I could tell the house elves to prepare your room."   
  
Ron raised his eyebrow at Harry's mention of house elves. Harry caught his change of expression, and said, "Don't worry, our house elves are well paid and provided for."   
  
"I was going to ask how you had house elves and still maintained friendship with Hermione," Ron laughed. Harry joined in his laughter.   
  
"In that case, then, yes, I'll accept your invitation and mooch off of your kind hospitality for a bit."   
  
"Wonderful!" Harry exclaimed. The clock on the wall chimed 7pm and caught Harry's attention, though, for he turned and said, "Wow, he will be here any second. I better go check the foyer."   
  
"Who will be here?" Ron asked again.  
  
Harry turned back with a pensive expression. "Um...I guess you'll find out in a moment." He turned and walked out of the room. Under his breath Harry muttered, "Won't this be interesting?"  
  
Ron caught the comment, however. Dumbfounded at his family's secrecy, in moments, he decided to follow Harry towards the front of the house.   
  
  
  
  


_Do you wish to be notified of updates for this story?_  
**Join the mailing list!**  
How?  
  
1. Request it in a review.  
2. E-mail me a request at songbird333@adelphia.net with  
"The Irony Of The Dragon Tamer" in the subject line.   
  



	2. Chapter 2: Accidental Concourse

_Disclaimer:_  
  
I own neither Harry Potter nor any other character or creation of J. K. Rowling. Give her credit for the characters. Give me credit for the plot.  
  
  
  
_Notes:_  
  
Hello readers. This is my first attempt at a slash fic, and my second attempt at any kind of fan fiction ever. Constructive criticism is welcomed and flames discouraged. I hope you enjoy the tale.  
  
  
  
  
  


**Chapter 2**

  
  
  
  
Ron walked slowly—his need for clarity outweighed his curiosity. He saw Harry a few feet ahead. The Boy-Who-Lived was practically racing for the front door to his flat. Ron's eyebrows were furrowed, and he could not ignore the tinge of hurt at watching his best friend and sister put his arrival on the back-burner. "This was not the loving reception I'd expected," he thought to himself. That left one question.  
  
"Who is so important that his or her arrival outshines mine?" Ron said aloud to the empty space of the hallway. Sighing, he continued, slowing as he reached the capacious foyer. It was elegantly and expensively decorated. Retribution for defeating the Dark Lord is not sparse. Ron stepped lightly so his footfalls would not echo off the tiled floor. Tiptoeing to the doorway, Ron could see that Harry and Ginny were already outside. They stood together with their heads tilted back and their eyes cast skyward. Ron's expression furrowed even more deeply. "Who would be so audacious as to arrive by broom?" he said. He heard a cough to his right. His head turned sharply. There, a painting of Ginny Weasley stood, smiling and calm. "My goodness, if it isn't my subject's brother? How are you, Master Weasley?" the painting said.  
  
"Confused, for starters," he said, and began to walk towards the painting. "Who's got my best chum and sister ignoring me already? I've been here for under five minutes."  
  
The painting's face held wisdom as she responded, "Of course they're not ignoring you, Master Weasley. As soon as your partner has arrived, you will see that all is as it should be."  
  
"My partner? I have no partner."  
  
The painting's face frowned. "No partner? I've heard your name connected with—" She froze, then lifted her eyebrows as realization dawned on her. "Ah...never mind that, Master Weasley."  
  
"Never mind? Come off it now. Speak up and tell—"  
  
The painting cut him off. "Perhaps the wise decision would be to look out the window, for as we speak, the answer approaches."  
  
Ron turned on his heels to see his sister clasping her hands joyously. He stalked back to the window and looked to the sky. Squinting, he finally noticed the figure in the sky. He pressed his nose to the glass, trying to focus the figure more clearly. Whoever he was flew quite skillfully, Ron noted, as he watched the swathing black robes flutter in the quickly passing wind. The broom flew so precisely..."Must be well-made." Still he could not quite identify the rider. As the broom got closer, the rider got more daring, turning loops and sharp turns on his broom. Ron watched as the broom suddenly began a vertical climb, going higher and higher. A few seconds after the point Ron could no longer see him, he descended, speeding faster than free-fall. Ron held his breath as the rider got dangerously close to the ground. "Pull up, you git!," Ron exclaimed as the rider appeared to be just about to crash into the ground. Ron squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them to see the rider not only still among the living, but beginning to slow down, and finally stop. Ron's eyes tried to focus as he quickly followed the feet that were firmly placed on the ground upward. His eyes finally found a recognizable face.  
  
He gasped—harsh and breathy, echoing through the foyer. His eyes were open wider than they'd ever been and his mouth hung slack. The immediate unconscious reaction of horror raised his eyebrows as his line of sight met the visitor's distinct countenance.  
  
Draco Malfoy.  
  
In the past, Ron had seen the vague stories of how the victory over the Dark Lord was owed greatly to efforts by Malfoy, how his connection with Harry won the final battle, how the wizarding world hailed his praises almost as much as the Boy-Who-Lived. At the sight of Malfoy's face, however, none of this registered. Suprisingly, nor did the torturous years of harmful verbal (and occasionally physical) conflict between the two. Before thought could seep into his conscious, all Ron could do was stare. Malfoy's body was tall, lean, toned. His posture impeccable, his stance commanding. It was the expression on his face that threw Ron, though. The initial expected smirk on his clever lips, the lazy confidence of his stare, and the sharp elevation of a thin marked eyebrow—the face Ron would have anticipated of Draco Malfoy quickly melted into a warm smile and affectionate gaze as Harry and Ginny rushed to meet him. The change left Ron dumbfounded. For some reason, he could not look away as he noted—memorized—the features, along with the rough blond hair that shifted in the wind. It was not slicked back as it was in his youth. Rather, with similar length, it fell messily—dangerously—atop his head. The effect was devastating.  
  
Ron watched the three embrace and smile. Harry turned and motioned toward the door with a smile, and the group quickly made their way to the door. Ron watched them approach, eyes still glued to Malfoy, until he heard Harry turn the door. "Oh shit," was all that went through Ron's head as he tried to back up quickly, the vague thought of trying not to appear as a peeping tom flashing across his conscious. However, grace was not with him. In his haste, he tripped over his own two feet and fell flat on his bum, right as Harry swung the door open wide and Draco stepped through. Ron felt the raw panic in his throat as he gasped lightly, leaning back on his arms, legs bent in front of him. The pain in his backside was forgotten as he found his eyes locked in contact with smoky gray irises. Silence struck.  
  
Draco Malfoy was accustomed to being prepared. He had arrived with much of the style and flair for which he was always known. He appreciated the warm and personal greetings from Harry and Ginny. When he heard the scuffling from inside Harry's home, as Harry had opened the door, he expected house elves to be skittering about, or something to that effect. Nothing, however, had prepared him for the sight that he actually beheld. Had he been anyone else but a Malfoy, trained to have extreme control over himself, his eyes would have widened, his mouth dropped open, and footing staggered. As it was, he fought the urge to gulp and his knees felt weak as he stared at the man on the floor, eyes devouring the sight like starving ferrets. The iron grip of his control showed no outward change in expression or demeanor. Inside, Draco was raving.  
  
In the icy still moments that followed, Draco took advantage. He noted the sheer size of the man sprawled across the Potter foyer. He had to be well over six feet tall, with long legs and broad shoulders. Luckily for Draco, Ron's robes were half open, and only the blind wouldn't take notice of his well muscled and toned abdomen under the stretched cotton tee shirt he wore. It was obvious that Ron had grown into the pinnacle of masculinity—which made the frightened-little-boy expression on his face all the more charming. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open slightly. Panic marked his brow below a shagged collection of bright auburn hair. His freckles contrasted to the paling cream tone of Ron's skin. Ron looked exactly as staggered as Draco felt. Draco's mind raced and thoughts, desires and feelings long ago forgotten, began to resurface with astounding poignancy.  
  
"I look like an idiot, standing here, practically drooling," he reprimanded himself, the thought sharp and angry. His self-disgust spurred him to action.  
  
Ron's breath threatened never to return as the steely-eyed blond man's stare bore into his own. He watched the eyes travel, not revealing reaction or purpose, only to return to his own shocked blue gaze. Slowly, Draco's eyebrow raised, followed closely by the curving of his clever lips. Suddenly, Ron's embarrassment exploded in his mind, showing itself on his skin. "He's mocking me," Ron thought, thoroughly embarrassed, but somewhat familiar with the feeling. This was more like the Malfoy he remembered—not the stuttering gasping explosion of awe—ridicule. Ron could deal with ridicule.  
  
Malfoy froze his expression and watched as the blush stained Weasley's pale skin. It started at his face, and Draco noticed it even creeping onto his hand. He couldn't help wondering how low the blush would travel...Draco shooed the thought from his head before he blushed himself. Instead, Draco focused on the changing in Ron's face—he was embarrassed, and immediately began to slip back into the old habits of school. "No, no," Draco objected in his mind, "Don't let him think that—he thinks you're being cruel! Great way to make a new, better impression." "Blimey," he muttered softly, almost to himself. Then he smoothly crossed to where Ron lay and offered a hand. Spoken in silky tones, Draco said, "Of all the honors, if it isn't Ron Weasley, dragon tamer. Please, I do hope you haven't hurt yourself. Stand so that we can become properly re-acquainted."  
  
Ron inhaled sharply, almost wary of the hand that Malfoy offered. Years of petty rivalry and insults, and here he was, Ronald Weasley, grown man, afraid to be helped to his feet by Draco Malfoy. Shaking off his trepidation, Ron settled his hand into Malfoy's, his fingers lightly curved, softly brushing the skin. Ron noticed the tensing of Malfoy's arm, but paid no attention as he rose to his feet. Searching for a phrase of gratitude, Ron blurted, "There's no such thing as a dragon tamer. No one can train a dragon."  
  
"Of all the stupid...," he thought, turning his head away.  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow and said, "No one else can tame a dragon, you mean. Could just be you."  
  
Draco found himself cursing and berating in his mind. Again. He had tried so hard to ignore the shiver that ran up his arm at the contact of Weasley's hand and wayward fingers. The mere touch of Ron's fingertips had Draco tense and hungry for more. He saw that Ron noticed his tensing, and damned himself again. And even after that, he'd spoke the words of a lovesick fool. Although he no longer prided in being of the Malfoy lineage, he did pride himself on the control and demeanor that the family had always adapted. Throw an overgrown, red-headed dragon tamer into the mix, and all of his composure washed away like it had never been there. He turned his head and realized that Harry and Ginny were still standing there. In actuality, only a few seconds had passed from entering the house to Draco helping Ron up. "Only a few seconds," thought Draco, "and I'll never be the same." He met Harry's eyes, and his own of icy gray narrowed.  
  
Ron watched as Malfoy turned his head, only to realize that Harry and Ginny were still there. Blushing even more brightly, he saw only the back of Draco's head as it focused on Harry. Ron watched Harry wince and swallow visibly before stepping forward. Harry cleared his throat, then began, "Draco, Draco, allow me to welcome you to my home. Also allow me to present my best friend, Ron. Of course, I'm sure you remember him from Hogwarts." Here, Harry took a quick breath, glanced at Draco, and cleared his throat again. "Ron," he said, turning towards the red-head, "I don't think I've yet to have the chance to tell you exactly what happened during the Dark War. Um," he stalled, then chuckled nervously, "I bet you didn't know we were good chums now, eh?"  
  
"Well now," Ron said, "I know Malfoy isn't an enemy...anymore. I've read the papers, so I know, vaguely, of his accomplishments." Harry winced a bit as he thought, "He doesn't have to keep using his last name. Crikey, we're not first years anymore," but continued, "Yes, Ron. Draco," he said with emphasis, "is the reason the Dark War was w—,"  
  
"Harry, don't be so modest." Draco spoke up and tilted his head.  
  
"But we'd have never—,"  
  
"Never is a strong word, Harry." Draco stared pointedly at him.  
  
Harry grinned at this, and said, "You're absolutely right. Never is a strong word. Much to strong to be used in this conversation." Harry glanced at Ron, then back at Malfoy, then back at Ron again.  
  
Ginny, seeing her husband begin to botch things up, quickly stepped in. "Harry, darling, I'm sure we can coax Draco into regaling Ron with spectacular war stories later on, but for tonight, let's make sure both of our guests are settled and comfortable, no?"  
  
Harry looked relieved, and put his arm around Ginny's waist lovingly. "Yes. Right. Come now, let us show you to your rooms." Harry turned and pecked a kiss on Ginny's delicate cheek before turning and motioning for Draco and Ron to follow. They walked down a long corridor to find a brilliant room with a large and decorative staircase that led to the second level of the Potter home. They walked further until they reached an apex of rooms. "Why don't you both stay in these rooms. They're right across from each other, and practically identical." Ginny opened the door to one room while Harry opened the door to the other, and both men peered. The living space was huge, and there was a regal poster bed on the far side. "Wow," Ron said, "Is this the Potter house or a bloody Muggle hotel?"  
  
Harry chuckled. "I hope we can take that as a vote of approval." Harry's tone took a mockingly stern tone and asked, "And how are your rooms, Master Malfoy? Are they sufficient?"  
  
Draco laughed. "Compared to the living conditions from the Dark War, they're more than enough. Thank you." With this, he bowed properly, and Harry bowed back, albeit more in jest than custom. They all laughed, and Ginny said, "Here, Ron, let me help you into your rooms."  
  
"That's good," Draco said and turned his face towards Harry. "Potter and I have something to discuss."  
  
Harry winced. "We do?" he asked weakly. Draco's face was turned, so only Harry suffered the effects of the icy glare of Draco's answer.  
  
"Yes. Why don't we adjourn to your office."  
  
Harry cringed again, but turned and said, "Right this way." Before turning all the way around, he shot Ginny a "help me!" look, but Ginny only laughed to herself and turned away. Ron looked bewildered. "What was that about?" he asked.  
  
Ginny shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest. Let them settle it. They'll be okay when they return. Come now, let's get you comfortable." She grabbed Ron by the arm and led him into the room. Ron's thoughts, however, stayed lingering on the hallway, and wondering what further things would happen there.  
  
  
  
  
  


_Do you wish to be notified of updates for this story?_  
**Join the mailing list!**  
How?  
  
1. Request it in a review.  
2. E-mail me a request at songbird333@adelphia.net with  
"The Irony Of The Dragon Tamer" in the subject line.   
  



	3. Chapter 3: Never is a Strong Word

_Disclaimer:_  
  
I own neither Harry Potter nor any other character or creation of J. K. Rowling. Give her credit for the characters. Give me credit for the plot.  
  
  
  
_Notes:_  
  
Hello readers. This is my first attempt at a slash fic, and my second attempt at any kind of fan fiction ever. Constructive criticism is welcomed and flames discouraged. I hope you enjoy the tale.  
  
I've recently edited and re-formatted a bit of the first and second chapters. The first chapter's dialogue is more seperated and, hopefully, easier to read. The second chapter's text has been changed minutely, because I decided that Malfoy sounded way too mushy. I wanted a strong attraction, but I didn't want him to turn into pudding. At least not yet. *wink* So a small amount of the content has been changed.  
  
Please note that I do not have a beta, so all mistakes are my own.  
  
Finally, thank you, reviewers. I am touched deeply by your kind words and hope to fufill your expectations. With that said, on with the next chapter. *smile*  
  
  
  
  
  


**Chapter 3**

  
  
  
  
Ginny pushed past Ron, who was standing dumbly at the door, his mind still working through the events of the past ten minutes.  
  
"Ron, don't just stand there—do I look like a house elf? Help me unpack your things!"  
  
Ron snapped from his reverie to raise his eyebrows at Ginny. "If Hermione ever catches you saying that, she'll hex you to the next century," he commented as he walked over to the bed, watching as Ginny conjured the spell to return his belongings to normal, usable sizes. He grabbed a pile of his socks and walked towards the handsome dark wood dresser to his left.  
  
"So," he drawled casually, trying not to sound like the curiosity was killing him, "what's with the visit from Mr. Malfoy?"  
  
Ginny looked up. Ron was putting the socks in the drawer, and his face was hidden. She furrowed her brow. "Draco's just coming for a visit, same as you."  
  
Ron's eyes widened, but he kept his voice the same. "Same as me, eh?"  
  
Ginny put her hands on her hips. "You know what I mean." She stalked over to the dresser and looked Ron in the face as he straightened his back. She looked Ron straight in the eyes and asked, "Why? Do you have a problem with it?"  
  
Ron broke their eye contact and looked to the right. "A problem? Nay, no problems here. I'm just curious."  
  
Ginny lifted an eyebrow. "You're looking awfully guilty, Ronald Weasley."  
  
A grin stretched across Ron's face at this statement. "Blimey, Ginny, you sound just like Mum."  
  
Ginny scoffed. "I do not!" she said in a loud, authoritative tone. Ron began to laugh. She crossed her arms and huffed, and Ron laughed even harder, falling onto the bed. She grinded her teeth and pursed her lips, but she couldn't keep the smile off of her face. "Oh well," she conceded, biting her lip and trying not to giggle, "Mum certainly had her ways of getting what she wanted."  
  
Ron's laughter subsided to chuckles as he leaned up from the bed, shaking his head. "You still never answered my question.  
  
"As you didn't answer mine."   
  
"I asked first."   
  
"So? It's my house."   
  
Ron sighed. His sister had learned to argue from the best—their older brothers. "Fine, then. I'll tell you."  
  
Ginny sat down next to Ron on the bed and leaned against him.  
  
"It's just that...well...,"  
  
"Well what?"  
  
Ron sighed again. "I don't know why this is so hard to say. I'm,...I dunno...just not used to Malfoy being on our team, I suppose. The last thing I remember about him, Gods, was him calling our family poor, him berating Dad, him making fun of my wand—"  
  
"Ron, people change. You've at least read about what he did during the war."   
  
Ron nodded. "I'd love to hear that story," he hinted.  
  
Ginny shook her head. "You'll not be hearing it from me. Go ask him. I'm sure Draco will have no problems telling _you_."   
  
Ron's brow furrowed. "What do you mean by that?"   
  
"By what?"   
  
"Why would he have no problem telling me specifically?"   
  
"Did I say you, specifically?"   
  
Ron snorted. "No, but you damn well insinuated it."   
  
Ginny chuckled. "Fine. I did mean you specifically. It's just that Draco said—"   
  
"Malfoy was speaking about me?" Ron spit the words as if they were poison. His sister looked at him with a disapproving frown.  
  
"He just told me that he wished that the two of you would have been a tad more...," Ginny paused, looking for the right word. Ron, for some reason, held his breath.   
  
"...civil," Ginny concluded.   
  
Ron felt a small wave of disappointment wash over him. "Where the hell did that come from?" he thought, but turned to Ginny and said, "Civil? Hell, I wanted to kill the bloody git every time I laid eyes on him."   
  
Ginny flashed him a quick smile, almost hinting that she didn't believe him. "I'm sure you did...but what do you think now?"   
  
"Now?" Ron deadpanned.   
  
"Yeah, now," Ginny said, smiling mischievously. "When he walked through the door. And how did you end up flat on your arse, by the way?"   
  
"Oh, um...," Ron said, beginning to blush. "I, um...well, was kind of peeping."   
  
Ginny laughed loudly. "Peeping? What ever for?"   
  
"Well," Ron said, turning redder with every word, "you guys rushed away and I had no clue what was going on."   
  
"Why didn't you come out and join us instead of peeping through the foyer?"   
  
Ron looked away. "I wasn't invited."   
  
"Gods, brother, I hope you don't expect us to invite you into every room of the damn house!" she mocked. "Ron, please join me in the lavatory."   
  
Ron poked her in the ribs playfully. "You always were too mean to me."   
  
She laughed. "Afraid of your little sister, eh dragon tamer?"   
  
Ron smiled, but shook his head. "There is no such thing as a dragon tamer."   
  
"Whatever. You still didn't tell me how you ended up on the floor."   
  
"Simple. I tripped. You guys were coming back, and I didn't want to be caught peeping, so I ran."   
  
Ginny giggled. "Ran for where?"   
  
"I don't know. Away from the windows. Anyway, it didn't work."   
  
"Obviously. You were staring up at Draco...what were you thinking?"   
  
Ron cleared his throat, but couldn't help blushing again. "I wasn't thinking anything, Ginny."   
  
"If you weren't thinking anything, I'll kiss a mandrake."   
  
Ron chortled. "What, is Harry that bad?"   
  
Ginny punched him in the arm. "Quiet you. Answer the question."   
  
Ron sighed. "Okay, fine. I was just really...surprised to see him. He was the last person I would have expected to drop in at the Potter residence—especially on a broom."   
  
"So it didn't cross your mind how hot he looked?"   
  
Ron blushed again, but indignantly replied, "What? I beg your pardon!"   
  
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Come on, now. You were checking him out. I don't blame you. I was checking him out, too."   
  
Ron's eyes bulged. "What?? I never thought...and you're a married woman!"   
  
"Remember, never is a strong word. And being married is not synonymous with being blind."   
  
Ron narrowed his eyes, but contiued, "But what about Harry??"   
  
Ginny laughed. "Harry knows there's nothing between me and Draco. I mean, how could there be with—" She paused abruptly and looked into Ron's face. "There's nothing between me and Draco," she said at last. "He's one of our best friends."   
  
"You and Harry?"   
  
"Of course. You've got to give him a chance, Ron. He's such a great person; so funny, so suave, so sexy..."   
  
"Okay, you can stop the Malfoy fan club. I'm not going to hate the man just because of our past."   
  
"You'd better not. His rooms mere meters away. And you're grumpy in the morning. I wonder how he'll take that."   
  
"Wonder away, then. I'm going to finish unpacking my stuff." Ron moved from his place on the bed and picked up a pile of shirts.   
  
"He's a really nice guy, Ron. And a really good friend." Ginny walked over to the door. "I'll leave you to your unpacking. Dinner will be soon, but don't wait until then. Come down into the living room when you're done."   
  
Ron waved his assent.   
  
The door had almost fully closed before Ginny stuck her head back in one last time. "Hey Ron?"   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"I bet Draco would make a really great lover." With that, she slammed the door. Ron could hear her giggling down the hall. He caught his flushed reflection in the mirror and quickly turned away.   
  
  


***

  
  
  
"I'm being led to my doom," was all Harry could think as Draco stalked in front of him, his fierce grip beginning to cripple Harry's right wrist. Of all the things that Harry would rather face—three-headed dogs, wild dragons, Voldemort himself—a pissed Draco Malfoy was not one of them. He tried not to recoil in anticipation of the lecture he was about to receive. Harry knew Draco too well to expect to have permission to explain. No, Draco will most likely scream, demand, and banter until he was satisfied, and then Harry would begin to explain. He had only held audience to this experience but once or twice. It was the opposite of pleasant.   
  
Draco fumed as he pulled the Boy-Who-Lived in tow. He'd been in the Potter home enough times to have memorized its layout, so he knew exactly where the door to Harry's office was. They came to a huge door with magic symbols hand-carved into the oak. "Wronski Defensive Feint", he growled through clenched teeth, and the solid door permitted their ingression. Once inside, Draco flung Harry forcefully to the settee that he knew would be there.  
  
Harry wheezed in contention as he wrapped his own hand around his now bruised wrist. "Heathen," he thought in his head as he rubbed the sore skin. He straightened his position on the settee, huffed, and then looked up. Draco was still at the door, his hands flat against it, his head bowed. Harry winced again. "This is going to be bad," he thought.   
  
Draco leaned against the unyielding door, eyes closed, trying frantically to collect his thoughts—to keep the sky from crashing into the ground. In the last ten minutes, his precarious world had been demolished by blue eyes and a lock of orange curl. He couldn't help it, though. Draco had come undone. Slowly, he pivoted and leaned his back against the door, but kept his eyes closed. His face was hard as granite. "Do you think this is some kind of fucking joke, Potter?" he spat.   
  
"Draco, listen—"   
  
Draco scoffed and turned his head. "Listen? You want me to listen? Honestly, after all we'd been through...I bloody trusted you!" he yelled, finally opening his eyes, his deadly focus on Harry.   
  
"But Draco, I—"   
  
"You?! You what?? You smart little shit, you think you know everything You think you can be the hero again? You bring him waltzing back into my life, delivered right before my damned eyes! And you expect me to be happy?!" Draco began to pursue his prey, slowly creeping closer to Harry. "After all I've done to try to forget the bloody bastard...all the damn nights I've been haunted by his face in my fucking dreams! This is my life! Don't you get it?? You're fucking with my life!"   
  
Mere inches away from Harry, Draco wanted to reach out, grab the shit by his throat and hex until every Unforgivable Curse was drained from his warring brain. Worse, he wanted to strike him in muggle fashion—anything to make him feel a fraction of the pain that etched along his skin, running deeply into his heart. Instead, the fervor drained from his face, and he scoffed pitifully. "I'm fucked, Harry," he said softly, sank onto the settee beside his friend, and with elbows on knees, buried his face in his hands. Completely dejected.   
  
Harry put an arm around Draco's shoulder. "You're so crude. I don't know why I put up with you." He sighed and continued, looking at the other man's profile, "Draco, I didn't invite him."   
  
Draco faltered a moment, then scoffed. "Do you really expect me to believe that Ron Weasley just happens to drop by for a visit at the exact moment as me?"   
  
Harry poked Draco's shoulder defensively. "Do you really believe that I would be so cruel as to invite Ron here? So insensitive? Hell, do you think I'm that stupid? Trust me, I'd have much rather saved myself the ear-beating, you git. Ron arrived not more than five minutes before you did. Hell, we didn't even get the chance to tell him you were coming. Good best friend I am—I didn't even give him a good welcome before Ginny and I scampered off to see to your safe arrival. Blimey, what isn't going wrong?"   
  
Draco raised his head from his hands, stress clearly marked across his features. He knew Harry wasn't lying. Harry had never lied to him in all the years of their friendship. Nor had Draco. The two knew practically everything about each other—especially the issue that was now surfacing.   
  
"Draco," Harry began slowly, taking a breath, "I know you've had a...fondness for Ron since Hogwarts."   
  
"Fondness?" Draco repeated dryly. "Fondness doesn't even cover it. Doesn't even begin to cover it. I'd almost risk saying that I'm head over heels for the man, and the only reason I don't is because we've not had a civil moment between us for the last sixteen years! What the hell kind of love is that, Harry?" Draco sighed.   
  
"We've discussed this already. You know things are different now."   
  
"Damn it,...the dreams were only coming once or twice a month now, rather than every damn day...taunting me..." Draco shivered to remember the dreams he would have about Ron, details that he would not completely divulge to Harry—partially out of not wanting to embarrass him, and secretly partially out of not wanting Harry to get any ideas himself. Ron was Draco's secret, his heart's desire. His obsession. At Hogwarts, it had manifested as criticism, sharp and witty comments, or even downright physical assault. That is, until Seventh year, when Ron had seceded from many of his other classes to focus on his gifts with the beasts of Hogwarts. He looked at Harry to see, from the expression on his face, that he was also recalling Seventh year, but most decidedly for different reasons.   
  
"Remember, Draco? Ron definitely won Hagrid's favor. He was Hagrid's pride and joy, none higher. He even ascended me in Hagrid's eyes, I believe." Harry recalled the glowing pride when Hagrid set his eyes on Ron calming Fluffy without aid of music, or Ron conversing with Aragog. "Funny how his gift only began to set in at the end of the Sixth year. I always thought that his way with animals could have been such a great help in the earlier years." Harry glanced at Draco, who had averted his eyes for some reason. "Draco?" Harry said, and Draco looked up. His face was pallid, eyes stormy with thought. "Draco, this happened for a reason."   
  
"Of course, you wouldn't want me to go attributing it to my star-crossed fate, is that it?"   
  
Harry scoffed. "Star-crossed? You've succeeded in bringing down the Dark Forces of the Wizarding World—"   
  
"—With help," Draco interjected, trying not to smile, but not succeeding very well. He knew his emotions were safe with Harry. Fighting side by side, relying on him, even saving his life a few times—showing emotions were no worry between the two of them.   
  
"—fine, with help. You're now a successful—"   
  
"Okay, okay. My life isn't that bad anymore. But with Ron, it's star-crossed. It will never work."   
  
Harry shrugged. "Never is a strong word, remember? Maybe that's why he's here—"   
  
Draco raised an eyebrow.   
  
Harry smiled and said, "—to change that star-crossed fate."   
  
Draco looked down again. "I'm afraid, Harry. Damn it, I hate fear. I defy Voldemort, help to defeat the Dark Forces, and the red-head across the hall makes me tremble." He looked up. "Hell, I don't even know if he's got an interest in men, let alone consider me. To him, I'm still Draco Malfoy, the evil git who degraded him years ago. Didn't you see the look in his eyes when he saw me? He was humiliated, like I had just insulted his family again, and—this kills me—he seemed to recognize the feeling! I couldn't stand to see it return to piddling rivalry again." Draco turned to look at Harry, who was smirking. "What? You're going to mock me now?" Draco said, mostly in jest.   
  
"No," Harry said slowly, "It's just obvious you didn't catch the way he looked at you when he saw you standing at the door. Perhaps you were distracted by my friends, ahem...other attributes?"   
  
Draco narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, Potter?"   
  
"Oh, so I'm Potter again, eh? Maybe I wont' tell you." Harry smiled triumphantly as Draco's eyes narrowed even further. "Ah, you're so easy to torture. You couldn't have seen Ron's face. He looked at you in awe. I remember the expression fondly, myself."   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
"It was the way I used to look at Ginny when I was in Seventh year and she Fifth. I practically gobbled her up with my eyes, amazed at what I saw. That's what you call love at first sight, Draco. You don't even realize it. It's just there."   
  
"At me? You can't be serious." Draco shook his head in disdain. "The boy only has eyes for a dragon."   
  
"Exactly, _Draco_." Harry said smugly. Draco looked up again, and couldn't help a small smile. The seeds of hope had been planted—just not in naught, Draco hoped.   
  
  
  
  


_Do you wish to be notified of updates for this story?_  
**Join the mailing list!**  
How?  
  
1. Request it in a review.  
2. E-mail me a request at songbird333@adelphia.net with  
"The Irony Of The Dragon Tamer" in the subject line.   
  



	4. Chapter 4: An Inebriated Evening

_Disclaimer:_  
  
I own neither Harry Potter nor any other character or creation of J. K. Rowling. Give her credit for the characters. Give me credit for the plot.  
  
  
  
_Notes:_  
  
Hello readers. This is my first attempt at a slash fic, and my second attempt at any kind of fan fiction ever. Constructive criticism is welcomed and flames discouraged. I hope you enjoy the tale.  
  
Okay, I'm kind of drifting here when it comes to plot. I've been debating between having an adventurous plot in addition to the romance, but I'm not really an adventure author. I've been brainstorming a few ideas, and I'm going to go with the ones that stick. Where they will appear, I'm not sure. This chapter, for example, was half thought out, and half off the cuff. I'm not sure if I like it yet. But at least I can get a start on the next chapters. So there we go.  
  
Please note that I do not have a beta, so all mistakes are my own.  
  
Finally, thank you, reviewers. I am touched deeply by your kind words and hope to fufill your expectations. With that said, on with the next chapter. *smile*  
  
  
  
  
  


**Chapter 4**

  
  
  
  
The susurrus of Draco's breathing echoed off of the decadently decorated walls of his chambers in the Potter residence. They kept the room decorated in a panoply of Slytherin style and color. It was always Draco's room during the many he made in the past. The room had never bothered him. On the contrary, he was gracious that his friends would be so indulgent towards him. Tonight, however, the silver and green tapestries seemed to close in around him. He flipped onto his side to spy the alarm clock on his nightstand. The time read 3:05. He watched as the second hand ticked its monotonously precise interstices until he realized the time now read 3:09. He groaned and flipped again, facing in the other direction—facing the door to his room. And that was the source of his problems. Out that door and across the hall, behind another door of similar shape, laid his heart's desire. The one that got away. "And I'm supposed to sleep?," Draco thought briskly. Still he closed his eyes and hoped for consciousness to fade away. Instead, memories of the evening played through his mind.  
  
They had all regaled Ron with their favorite jokes, stories, and lessons from the war and their time together as friends afterwards. "We shared a lot of fun," mused Draco, "but I wonder what fun we could have had if Ron were with us." He had tried to memorize Ron at dinner inconspicuously, noting certain mannerisms and habits that added to the dragon tamer's charm. To Draco's embarrassment, he'd been caught at least twice by everyone at the table, earning coy smiles from Ginny, Harry biting his lip in amusement, and Ron raising his eyebrows in confusion or quickly looking away with blush staining his visage. Draco could tell that Ron could tell that there was something that he was missing something—something everyone else at the table knew but him. It added to the feel that Ron was annexed from the rest of the group. Ron hadn't appeared uncomfortable at dinner, aside from the disbelieving looks he threw in Draco's direction, but the whole atmosphere seemed to make Ron appear more isolated. Not apart of the group. "Alone," Draco said in the darkness, still staring at the door. He perceived no answer.  
  
Groaning again, Draco flipped back onto his other side. Spying the clock, it traitorously read 3:20am. "To hell with this," Draco thought, "I'll not lie here like a corpse." With haste, he threw the covers off of his body and swung his legs over the side of the bed, searching blindly for his slippers. "I'll go and have a drink in the library. Or two. Or more, depending on necessity." He had a strange notion that the best remedy for tonight would be to get completely plastered. At least he'd end up asleep—somewhere in the house. Harry always found him, so it would be no matter. He stretched his arms above his head, the emerald silken pajamas sliding against his skin. Finally finding his slippers, he grabbed for his black silk robe, threw it on, and crept out of the room.  
  
Draco turned around to close the door quietly. "No need to wake the whole house up," he thought. He turned back around only to focus, in the dim moonlit hall, on the door across from him. He froze for a moment. In the safety of his own room, he had thought and speculated about the door to the room, but faced with it, his body stilled with hesitation, spurned from fear of rejection and uncertainty. In a moment he stepped forward and placed his hands flat against the door, leaning his ear forward to listen for sounds from the interior. He heard nothing. "What the hell am I doing?," Draco asked himself, and stood up straight, shaking his head in aggravation. "Standing outside his door like a deranged stalker is not helping me get to sleep anymore than staring at the damned clock," he grumbled, then walked to the stairs.  
  
He had no problem navigating his path through the home—he'd been there countless times before, and tonight was not the first he'd slipped out of his room for a nightcap. Not by a long shot. However, he was surprised at the warm glow he found as he approached the entrance to the Potter library. "Someone else is also awake," he thought, "but surely not for the same reasons as I." With a light ironic chuckle, he entered the room, fully expecting to find Harry, drink in hand, perusing his latest Quiddich playbook. He opened his mouth to speak before he realized the true occupant of the room. He focused on the face of Ron Weasley, and the words he was about to speak dissipated. His eyes widened, and his mind insisted, "This cannot be real."  
  
"Oh, Malfoy," Ron said, surprise registering in his voice and on his features. "I guess you couldn't sleep either."  
  
Draco made some noise that sounded distinctly like, "Uh...," and then finally answered, "No."   
  
"What the fuck! The man's a fucking stupefying charm!" Draco sighed, but his mind perked at the ambiguous syntax of the statement. Brushing that thought aside, he told the half-truth, "I've been lying in bed for hours, tossing and turning, damning my clock. Mind if I sit down?"  
  
He thought that Ron's skin may have flushed when he spoke, but it could have been the reflection the fire, and Ron turned his head as he said, "Not at all." As Draco sat down on the same couch as Ron, however, Ron rose and walked towards the library's mini bar. "I'm having another drink. You want one?"  
  
Draco let out his breath and said, "Okay, Ron. What are you having?"  
  
"What would you like?"  
  
Draco tried not to let his expression change as he thought up numerous responses to the question. "I'll have straight vodka."  
  
Ron smiled faintly. "You too?" He turned to the bar to prepare the drinks, but continued speaking, "I've always been fond of vodka myself. Not as sweet as butterbeer." He turned his head over his shoulder again with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And definitely not as weak."  
  
Draco returned the light smile, careful not to look as extremely pleased as he felt. He kept control as soon as he realized the camaraderie that Ron was offering. "Friendship's definitely a start," he thought.  
  
Ron returned with both drinks in hand. He handed one to Draco, and sat down in the chair to the left of him. Draco tried not to let the mild disappointment show as he held his glass in his hands. He also noted that Ron's hands trembled as he held his own glass.  
  
Ron looked Draco with an intense expression. Draco opened his mouth to ask what was wrong when Ron's expression turned to one of perplexed amusement. "Ha," he said, closed his eyes, lifted his glass to his lips, and downed the liquid in one gulp. Draco widened his eyes, unsure of what to say. Ron answered Draco's expression with a goofy grin and saluted Draco with his empty glass. "You know," he said in a slurred voice, "if someone would have told me in my fourth year of Hogwarts that I'd end up sitting in my best friend's library getting drunk with Draco Malfoy, savior of the wizarding world, I would have either laughed my bloody arse off—either that or hexed the hell out of Trelawney." Ron laughed at his own joke.  
  
"So that's what this is about," Draco mused in his mind, realization dawning. He placed a hand on Ron's knee as he began to stand to get another drink. Ron's eyes darted to where his hand was and followed his arm up to look into Draco's face. Trepidation was all over his Ron's expression.  
  
"How many drinks did you have before I joined you, Ron?" Draco asked.  
  
Ron's unease subsided to a blank expression that Draco couldn't read. Draco stared into those hazel eyes and watched them deepen to a golden hue in the firelight. Ron was the first to look away. He parted his lips and sighed. "Uh,...," he said, and removed Draco's hand as he continued to stand. He took a few steps towards the bar, then suddenly stumbled. Draco was up like a flash and at Ron's side. With a fierce hold of Ron's right arm, he led him back to the settee. Ron looked into Draco's face, blushed, and then chuckled. "Would you believe I don't remember how many I've had?"  
  
Draco couldn't help the chuckle. "Never in a million years," he said sardonically. "Maybe vodka isn't the best choice right now."   
  
Ron laughed drunkenly and slouched. "Vodka's always the best choice!"  
  
Draco sighed. "If you say so, Weasley."  
  
That brought Ron's gaze directly back to Draco's face. "Now that sounds more familiar."  
  
"What does?"  
  
"You called me 'Weasley'. All this 'Ron' shit is throwing off my equilibrium."  
  
"Oh, so it's my fault, and not the vodka?"  
  
Ron snorted and pointed his finger crookedly. "Exactly," he slurred with a lazy salute.  
  
Draco could tell that all hopes for serious conversation were pointless. He asked his question again. "Could you give me an educated guess?"  
  
"Of?"  
  
"How many drinks have you had?"  
  
Ron thought for a moment, looking befuddled. "And adorable," Draco's mind threw in, but he quickly hushed his subconscious.   
  
"Honestly...one before this one."  
  
Draco scoffed. "Just because I'm a Malfoy doesn't mean that you're okay to lie to me—,"  
  
"I'm not lying! Honest!" Ron said, sitting up, conviction on his face. Then he had the grace to look discomfited. "I don't drink very often. The dragons don't take well to it. Not to mention that alcohol on your breath when dealing with fire-breathing creatures could be extremely hazardous...," Ron trailed off, his mind focusing on the dragons of Romania.   
  
Draco looked at his hands. "You've a low tolerance," he said.  
  
"Comes with the red hair. My whole family gets drunk very easily," Ron said, then laughed again. "Odd as it is, Ginny's the only one who can hold her liquor relatively well, and even she's worse than most people."  
  
Draco chuckled. "Yes, I'd have to agree with you. Usually, it would take three drinks to get her as smashed as you are."  
  
"Smashed?" Ron said in an injured tone. "I'm not smashed. Hell, I can't feel anything at all. That's the damn point, you know." He pointed at Draco again. "Its your bloody fault, anyway."  
  
Draco's breath caught. "What's my fault?" he asked softly.  
  
"I can't sleep. You're right across the bloody hallway, for gods sake! I mean...its you!" Ron paused and looked into Draco's face, leaning in closely. Draco held very still, hoping that Ron would explain what he meant.  
  
"You threw off my equilibrium," Ron said again, leaning closer. His eyes were staring directly into Draco's, and he was mere inches away. Draco couldn't even trust himself to breathe, sitting much closely to a drunken Ron Weasley on a love seat. He froze.  
  
"And then," Ron said, jerking himself away from Draco and continuing, "I was wandering through the halls and I just happened to stumble upon the room of Master Potter. Haven't they ever heard of a silencing charm? I'd rather not hear my best friend go down on my bloody sister!" Ron raised his hands to his eyes, trying to erase the mental picture.  
  
Draco caught his escaping breath and sanity enough to be amused. He knew that Ginny and Harry were always a tad too loud when alone. He probably didn't mind it as much as Ron, though.  
  
"Thank goodness I won't remember it come tomorrow morning," Ron said finally.  
  
"What do you mean?" Draco said in a guarded tone.  
  
"Aw, hell, when I'm this drunk, I never remember what happens."  
  
"Really?" Draco said, simultaneously cursing himself for the direction that his mind instantly headed.  
  
"Yup. Won't remember a bloody thing. Once in Romania, I woke up in Charlie's bed with Charlie sleeping in an easy chair, and the new bartender from the local pub at my side, naked as the day he was born. As was I! Imagine what went through my head!"  
  
Draco almost fell over in surprise, but he had no trouble imagining, alright. "What went through your head, Ron?"  
  
"What went through my head?? That I fucked the new bartender with my brother watching! Disturbing thought, it is."  
  
Draco crossed his fingers. "Did you?"  
  
"Nah," Ron said. Draco's face fell. Ron continued, "Charlie came in after we were sleeping."  
  
That caught Draco's attention. "But you...you...,"  
  
"Hell yeah I did. Bloody hell if I can remember it, though."  
  
Draco's brow furrowed. "Then how do you know...,"  
  
Ron smirked. "Its easy to tell. The bartender...fuck if I can remember his name, but he came crawling back for more. Offered me money, he did. People just aren't the same after they fuck me."  
  
Draco had to laugh. "You're starting to sound like me."  
  
Ron snorted. "To hell with you. I fuck better than a bloody Malfoy any day."  
  
It was on the tip of Draco's tongue to provoke Ron to prove it, but then Ron finished the thought.  
  
"Want me to prove it?"  
  
Draco choked on his breath. His mind screamed, "Fuck yeah!" His conscious, however, led him in the right direction. "No, I'll take your word for it."  
  
Ron pouted. "_HOLY FUCK_," Draco's mind screamed, "he actually pouted!"  
  
"You're no fun," Ron sulked. "What's wrong? You would have done it before. I remember they said you'd have a go with anyone. What's wrong with me? Don't want to sleep with a Weasel, eh?" Ron's voice grew in drunken anger.  
  
Draco sighed. "Ron," he began, "I am not the same as I was in school. Neither are you."  
  
Ron leaned in closely again. Way too closely for Draco's comfort. "I know. You're much sexier now." With that, Ron licked his lips and kissed Draco deftly. Draco gasped in surprise, and Ron sucked on his lower lip. Driven senseless, Draco couldn't help leaping into the kiss.   
  
A sense of unreality settled over Draco's mind as he sampled the taste of Ron, their tongues slowly sparing and passions growing. Draco could feel as Ron leaned in closer, ravishing Draco's mouth. Draco was in the midst of a fantasy that he always wanted to come true. Draco wanted Ron more than ever. And Draco pushed Ron off of him and gasped for breath, halting their kisses.  
  
"I won't do this with you now," Draco said between heaving breaths, grasping desperately for control.  
  
"Why not? It was a free shot. No memories, no nothing. Could have been fun," Ron replied. He sat up, yawned, and leaned back into his chair. Draco watched his eye lids slide closed. Ron had passed out.  
  
Draco nudged Ron to see if he would stir, but Ron was not disturbed. In frustration, Draco put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, once again feeling its hopeless weight. He took a few moments to slow his pulse, and groaned in the realization that he had a raging hard on. He lifted his head and clenched his fists. He briskly walked to the bar and poured himself another drink. Promptly, he downed it. He shook his head, then walked for the exit. He paused in the doorway and looked at Ron's passed out form. "Fuck you, Weasley," he said, "you're not getting out of this that easily." He walked back to his chambers.   
  
  
  
  


_Do you wish to be notified of updates for this story?_  
**Join the mailing list!**  
How?  
  
1. Request it in a review.  
2. E-mail me a request at songbird333@adelphia.net with  
"The Irony Of The Dragon Tamer" in the subject line.   
  



	5. Chapter 5: Dawning Revelations

_Disclaimer:_  
  
I own neither Harry Potter nor any other character or creation of J. K. Rowling. Give her credit for the characters. Give me credit for the plot.  
  
  
  
_Notes:_  
  
Hello readers. This is my first attempt at a slash fic, and my second attempt at any kind of fan fiction ever. Constructive criticism is welcomed and flames discouraged. I hope you enjoy the tale.  
  
Can you believe it? It's not been weeks and weeks and already I'm updating! I hope its a sign of things to come...aka more efficient muses resulting in quicker updates. *wink*  
  
Please note that I do not have a beta, so all mistakes are my own.  
  
Once again, finally, thank you to my consistant and wonderful reviewers. As I've said before, I am so touched by your kind words and hope to fufill your every expectation. *smile*  
  
  
  
  
  


**Chapter 5**

  
  
  
  
The sun blared through the library window—strong, crisp, and unable to be ignored. Ron groaned and shifted his neck, only to feel excruciating pain through his skull. He groaned again in certain agony. "What devilry is this?" he thought, until he discovered that even thinking hurt. He squeezed his eyes as shut as they could be in attempt to ignore the chipper light, but it wasn't working. It was at that time the birds outside the window decided to crescendo their song, chirping and tittering painfully high pitched notes. "I want to die," Ron croaked as he attempted to find a comfortable spot on...whatever he was on. He was in so much pain, he didn't even care. Far away, he heard laughing. It began to draw closer and closer until he heard the familiar voice boom loudly, "Good morning, sunshine!"  
  
Ron flicked his fingers in the air. "Avada Kedavra. Let me sleep."  
  
Harry laughed loudly, making Ron wince. "You must be really hung over if you tried to kill me, of all people, with Avada Kedavra."  
  
"Dammit, Harry, can't you shut the hell up?"  
  
"Nope," Harry said with a grin. "I had an excellent night, and I'm ready for the day."  
  
"Yeah, I vaguely remember that. I heard when I was going through the halls," Ron groaned. "Ever hear of a silencing charm, Potter?"  
  
Harry laughed again, and Ron wondered what the fuck was so funny. "You're acting just like the selfish Slytherin you spent the night with, eh?"  
  
Ron's eyes shot open. "What??"  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you don't remember."  
  
"God, Harry, you know I don't remember anything when I'm drunk," Ron fretted, his temples pounding.  
  
"Yeah, and so does Draco."  
  
"He does? How does he know that?"  
  
Harry grinned mischievously. "Because you told him."  
  
"Bloody sodding hell...," Ron said and covered his hands with his face.  
  
"What?" Harry asked. "Half of the wizarding world would love the opportunity you had last night. Draco Malfoy's the World's Sexiest Wizard, according to Rita Skeeter. Hell, he even beat out me, the git," Harry said, his delight evident in his voice.   
  
"At least you're humble," Ron groaned, then attempted to stand up. "Harry, where the hell are my legs?"  
  
"Maybe you let Draco fuck them off."  
  
"Jesus, Harry! Don't say shit like that!"  
  
"What? Just because you're mad because you missed the best lay of your life—,"  
  
"I did not miss the best lay of my life! Nothing happened!"  
  
Harry's eyebrows raised. "Are you sure about that?"  
  
Ron opened his mouth to reply affirmative, but then his dreams came back to him...dreams of him with Malfoy, on Malfoy, in Malfoy, drinking from Malfoy like he was the bloody fountain of youth. He couldn't be positive of how much was fact and how much was fiction—especially if Malfoy was with him. He vaguely remembered pouring two drinks at the library mini bar last night...  
  
"Aw, fuck, Harry...it's not possible," Ron whimpered, unsure.  
  
"What? So the dragon tamed you for once. Would it really be that bad?"  
  
"Well, I..., uh..., um,...Harry, he's Dra-, uh, Malfoy! God, who fucks a Malfoy?"  
  
"I did."  
  
Ron's eyes practically fell out of his head.  
  
"What??"  
  
"Before I married your sister, yeah. We spent one night together. He's awesome between the sheets...hell, he's a sex god. I wasn't so deeply in love with your sister, I'd probably be with Draco, just for how good the sex is. Throw love into the mix, and, well, ...damn."  
  
Ron blinked forcefully. "Wah...what??" he repeated.  
  
Harry looked at him, then tilted his head. "You've got a major hangover, huh?"  
  
"No shit, Sherlock."  
  
"You're so mean when you're in pain. Where's your Griffindor pride?"  
  
"From what you're saying, it was fucked by Draco Malfoy!"  
  
Harry chuckled. "Come on, let me take you back to your room. You can sleep a bit, get a nice bath, and join us when you're feeling human again."  
  
Ron grumbled all the way up the stairs.  
  


*******************

  
  
"There's a big difference," said Ron aloud, when shrouded in the safe solitude of his chambers, "between what Harry says and what happened." Desperation crept into his voice. "There's got to be."  
  
Ron had just woken from a nap of considerable length. He couldn't remember what time it was when Harry led him from the library to his chambers. Now, the clock read 1:18. He stretched and got up, searching for his wand. He'd need a good hangover spell to get through the rest of the day. He wondered why Harry didn't cast one on him when he found him. "Bloody bastard," he thought vengefully. "Wouldn't be the first time."  
  
"Wouldn't be the first time for what?"  
  
Ron's attention darted to his doorway where a fully dressed Draco Malfoy leaned against the frame. Ron's eyes quickly traveled the length of Draco's form before he was aware of what he was doing. Draco was dressed in faded denim and a gray sweater—the shade brought out the icy blue of his irises. Ron froze. Draco stared back with an eyebrow raised.  
  
"Well, the least you could do is invite me in, Ron."  
  
"He called me Ron again." The thought stole across Ron's brain quickly, but he pushed it aside and said, "Uh, I'm in my pajamas."  
  
"I can see that. Smashing pajamas they are," Draco replied satirically.  
  
Ron blushed and looked away. "I'm such a dolt," he said. "Please come in."  
  
Draco nodded his head. "That's more like it." He walked into Ron's chambers and sat in one of the burgundy and golden chairs to the left of Ron, noting the affect of the other man in his natural colors. It was enchanting.  
  
"At home in your natural Gryffindor habitat, I see," Draco commented as he watched Ron try to get his thoughts together.  
  
"Ah, well, I'm actually more at home in a, an, uh...hut. Cottage," Ron sputtered, just to fill the silence. "It's kind of like Hagrid's, in some fashion, I suppose. Romanian, too. Um, yeah."  
  
Draco raised his eyebrows for a moment, and then nodded, as if having considered the information, found it believable. "I suppose one day I'll see for myself."  
  
Ron's eyes shot wide open, then he blushed and looked down. "I suppose," he spoke softly. Damn, though, if his head wasn't aching so horribly. That was most likely the reason that Ron sounded so dumb—or at least that's what he told himself. So long as it had nothing to do with Draco's presence, then Ron could reason through it. He lifted a hand to his temples.  
  
"Headache?" Draco asked. Ron nodded. "I figured. Didn't the spell work?"  
  
"Spell?" Ron looked pained.  
  
"The hangover spell?"  
  
"Oh, no. I've yet to cast it."  
  
Draco scoffed. "Then why are you sitting here talking to me?" He sighed laboriously, then searched for his wand. "Here, I'll cast it."  
  
Ron nodded his consent and put his head down. Draco stood and held his wand, carefully casting the charm, throwing in his own alteration to the incantation. He stepped away as Ron blinked a few times.  
  
"Wow," he said. "Blimey, that's amazing! I feel like I've gotten 16 hours of sleep! How did you do that?"  
  
Draco chuckled. "I've had quite my experience with hangover charms, and have perfected them over the years. I've got a few for different occasions."  
  
"You'll have to share them one day, Malfoy." Ron smiled, but noticed Draco looked perturbed. "What's wrong?" he questioned.  
  
Draco looked pointedly into Ron's face. "I'm not here to hex you, right?"  
  
Ron looked unsure. "Uh, right."  
  
"I'm not here to hurt you or kill your family or friends, right?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"I'm not even here to make fun of you, right?"  
  
"Not that I know of..."  
  
Draco drove his point home. "Then why do you still address me by my last name? For bloody sake, Ron, we're adults now. I no longer have any wish whatsoever to berate you or your family. Hell, I'm a good friend to all of them! Percy's one hell of a dancer when he loosens up, you know." Ron looked fairly shocked, but Draco wasn't sure whether it was because of his question or his comments about the Weasley crew.  
  
"I didn't know you knew my family," Ron said softly.  
  
Draco tried to look nonchalant. "Well, I guess Arthur and I became friends during the war, along with the twins. And here, look at this." With that, Draco stood and reached for the hem of his sweater. Ron gasped as he pulled it over his head, shocked—and totally missing the point. "See?" Draco said, pointing to his sweater underneath. It was black stitching with a green D in the middle, made by none other than Molly Weasley.  
  
Shocked, Ron asked, "When did you get that?"  
  
"Ah, before we all left for the war. Look here." Draco pointed to a place in the sweater, somewhat lower and to the left of his heart. There was a large tear, and looked to be mended by an unskilled hand.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
Draco took a deep breath. "We were out in the field, and I was hit by a rather nasty rogue blasting curse. It tore through my armor and defenses, but halted, for some reason, at this sweater. Only this rip was made, and I thoroughly believe my life was saved. I stitched it up with a quick spell and returned to combat without my armor and magic defenses. I remained unscathed."  
  
Ron's face changed from confusion to wonder. "Really?"  
  
"Yes. You can ask Harry. He was there, too. You could say this is my lucky sweater," Draco concluded with a light smile. After a few moments, though, Ron's wonder remained. "Well then," Draco said, to break the silence.  
  
"Oh," Ron jumped a bit, breaking from his fury of thoughts. "I was just thinking..."  
  
"About...?" Ron opened his mouth as if to answer, but then shut it again. "Ah, nothing. Nothing." He smiled somewhat sheepishly, and said, "I get what you mean."  
  
It was Draco's turn to look confused. "You do? About what?"  
  
"Names. I guess I can call you Draco, Malfoy."  
  
"What, you're going to call me by my entire name now?"  
  
Ron blushed. "No, Malfoy, er, uh...Draco. I'll call you Draco."  
  
"Good. That's who I am. Remember it." He smiled again. "So how was your evening?"  
  
Ron groaned again and dropped back down to lie flat on his bed again. "First you came and fixed everything, and now you're going to mess it up again!"  
  
"I did?"  
  
"Yup, you killed the hangover only to unearth it's cause. Do you have no shame?"  
  
Draco smiled again, only more mischievously. He cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe, why? How was your evening?"  
  
Ron threw his hands over his eyes. "Damn you, you know I don't remember."  
  
Draco sat down on the side of the bed. "Oh, that's right. Mr. 'I-drink-two-drinks-and-loose-entire-days', right?"  
  
"Well...maybe it was more than two drinks."  
  
"Ah, his memory returns. How much did you have?"  
  
"Well...starting with dinner, and then before bed, and so...uh," Ron calculated, wincing. "Maybe 6...7?"   
  
Draco scoffed. "Of vodka?? Are you serious?"  
  
Ron shrugged. Draco noted that he was still lying flat on the bed. It was ruining his concentration on the nice, safe conversation they were having...with Ron still in his pajamas.  
  
Ron eventually answered, "I had champagne at dinner, maybe one or two...but when I woke up and found the library, I had quite a few shots of vodka. I was looking to get drunk, so I achieved my purpose."  
  
Draco leaned slightly over Ron's form. "And why did you have that purpose, eh?"  
  
Ron slowly uncovered his eyes and found his gaze met with icy blue. Only it didn't seem so icy—rather, it was steaming, fogging up his mind. "Uh,..." he said.  
  
"And are you sure you don't remember last night?" Draco murmured in a silky tone, leaning in even closer.  
  
"Uh...," he said again, "Not much."  
  
"Do you remember me?"  
  
"Vaguely. I remember you being there...when I woke, I thought I was dreaming."  
  
Another eyebrow raise from Draco. "Really?" he said, drawing out the word, sending shivers down Ron's spine so that he forced himself not to react. Draco continued, "So, what were you dreaming? About me, that is...?"  
  
Ron's was blushing, and once again, his eyes were wide. He sat up quickly as he placed a hand on Draco's arm, so as not to hit him. "Nothing! Um, that is...I think...we were just..., uh," Ron grew redder as the memories of his dream came back. The scariest thought was that he could not remember how far they had gone. If Ron's entire dream was true, he thought he would be, ahem, _feeling_ it right now, but he wasn't, so the most Ron knew was that he hadn't given himself to Draco. He couldn't be sure about the rest.  
  
Draco noted his panic. It intrigued him. Ron must have dreamt more than the passionate drunken kiss they shared on the library settee. It intrigued him indeed, but he was feeling evil, so he relented, "Well, when you remember, be sure to come and find me." Suggestion was written all over his countenance. He leaned in and brushed his lips against Ron's only long enough to feel Ron's delicious gasp, then turned and walked out of the room.  
  
Ron watched him leave, too entirely stunned to react. As soon as Draco was gone, he released his breath in a torrent. "Holy hell," he thought, and dropped flat back to the bed beneath him. "I need to talk to Harry. Now."   
  
  
  
  


_Do you wish to be notified of updates for this story?_  
**Join the mailing list!**  
How?  
  
1. Request it in a review.  
2. E-mail me a request at songbird333@adelphia.net with  
"The Irony Of The Dragon Tamer" in the subject line.   
  



	6. Chapter 6: The Battle Against Hedonism

_Disclaimer:_  
  
I own neither Harry Potter nor any other character or creation of J. K. Rowling. Give her credit for the characters. Give me credit for the plot.  
  
  
  
_Notes:_  
  
This is my first attempt at a slash fic, and my second attempt at any kind of fan fiction ever. Constructive criticism is welcomed and flames discouraged. I hope you enjoy the tale.  
  
Fact: Working sucks. Even bigger fact: Working two jobs and not having enough time to work on your fics sucks even more. Gentle and consistant reader, your patience should be rewarded with money. Alas, all I can offer is my imagination. The boys aren't too bad, either. *wink* As for this chapter, yes, its been a _long_ time in the making. I've had it thought out for at least a month, and have just never gotten the chance to sit down and write it, and when I did, I couldn't make it flow correctly. So this time, I was determined to get this chapter out. It's not what I expected, and I don't know how to slow the boys down. Sex is definately in the air. Can't wait for the fireworks.  
  
Please note that I do not have a beta, so all mistakes are my own.  
  
Once again, finally, thank you to my consistant and wonderful reviewers. As I've said before, I am so touched by your kind words and hope to fufill your every expectation. *smile*  
  
  
  


_Note:_ The following chapter has NC-17 content.

  
  
  
  


**Chapter 6**

  
  
  
  
Harry was busy with paperwork in his office when Ron found him. Ron had traveled around the house for at least twenty minutes, poking his head furiously in and out of corridors and rooms, softly shutting doors, and peeking around corners.   
  
"Here you are," he proclaimed as he entered the room.  
  
"Yes, I've been here for a while. I'm just going through the plays for the Cannons. The season starts up again in a few weeks."  
  
Ron smiled. "Wow. The Chudley Cannons," he said in a voice somewhat wistful. "I've heard you've led them on to many a victory, Captain. Quite a change from the past."  
  
Harry shook his head and smiled. "Now, Ron, you of all people should know the amazing amount of potential that the Cannons had. It just took some work to get it put together successfully."  
  
Ron shrugged. "I guess with you as partial owner and captain, they couldn't go wrong. Now if only you could tell me who the other, silent owner is, I could die in peace..."  
  
Harry laughed. "Come on, mate. You mean you couldn't guess?  
  
"No," Ron said slowly, pouting. "I've always been kind of hurt that you've never told me, either."  
  
"Ron, don't be dramatic," Harry said, "We've only been managing the team for, hell, going on two years now. It hasn't been that long, and we've all been...busy. You've been in Romania for how long now, you know?"  
  
"Aye," Ron said, casting his gaze to the floor.  
  
"When was the last time you've seen a Quiddich match?"  
  
"Oh, uh...," Ron rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to remember when something other than fire, scales, and roars consumed his time. "I really don't know..."  
  
Harry looked pensive for a moment, reflecting how different their lives have become. Before the war, back in Hogwarts, Ron's dedication to Quiddich was almost legendary, and now Ron is truly a legend in a totally different way. Although Harry was immensely proud of Ron, it hurt to see how much the red-head's life has changed—how much of they both had missed in each others lives. "There's no use in damning a ended war," Harry thought, "Its time to rebuild the pieces." Then Harry's mind ghosted on another chum, and a mischievous smile overtook his features.  
  
"I'm sure you'll have no problem getting good tickets to a Cannon match in the future. You just need to sweet-talk one of the two owners, maybe offer a favor or two...sexual or otherwise..."  
  
Ron raised an eyebrow. "Harry, I am _not_ offering you favors of any kind."  
  
Harry looked shocked for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Not me, you git! You and me—gods, that's hilarious!"   
  
An amused smile cracked across Ron's face too, and he joined in the merriment. "I've known you to be a bit risqué, Harry, but this time I thought you'd lost it. Snogging you would be like snogging Fred or George!" Ron grimaced at the prospect, and Harry laughed even harder. Ron shook his head and began chuckling. As Harry's laughter died down, Ron continued. "So, if I'm not kissing your ass, or other areas of your anatomy, then to whom do I suck up to?"  
  
"The other owner of the Cannons, of course."  
  
Ron frowned. "Oh, of course," he said sarcastically, "The one of which I don't know the existence."  
  
"I'll give you a hint," Harry said with a smirk. "You snogged the bugger pretty well last night..."  
  
Ron froze, blinked, and suddenly remembered why he'd been searching for Harry in the first place.   
  
Harry continued. "He never misses a match, you know. Ever wonder how he got the best seats in the pitch? Its not because he's a Malfoy or a war hero, I'll tell you that."  
  
Harry stopped and watched Ron. He could tell that Ron's thoughts were racing. His eyes looked almost frantic, and his hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly. "I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing," Harry thought, and he laid a hand on Ron's arm. Ron jumped visibly, looking quite startled.  
  
"Settle down, Ron. Gods, what's going on in that head of yours?"  
  
Ron raised his eyebrows. "I'm, well, ...fuck, Harry. I'm just...so damn confused."  
  
"About...?"  
  
"Malfoy. Er, Draco." Ron's face softened a bit, Harry noted, but decided not to bring it to Ron's attention.   
  
"Okay, I guess that's understandable. What about Draco?"  
  
Ron gulped. "Well, he's, um...," Ron grabbed the back of his neck and looked down for a second, then blurted, "Do-you-think-he's-hitting-on-me?" Ron looked into Harry's face a tad desperately, then looked down again and blushed.  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows and smiled faintly. "Hitting on you? Well...," Harry crossed his arms and smiled at the top of Ron's head. "Do you want him to, ahem, _hit_ on you?"  
  
Ron grimaced. "Aw, hell, I don't know. I don't even know him, you know? For years, he's my biggest enemy, and then everything changes, my biggest enemy becomes a big pile of dragon dung, and Draco's partial savior of the wizarding world."  
  
Harry smiled, but frankly replied, "Yep. That's the way it is. Is that a problem?"  
  
Ron sighed. "I don't know. No, it's not a problem. I just have to get used to it."  
  
"So...what does that have to do with Draco?"  
  
"Draco...," Ron said the name slowly, weighing the sound as entered the air. What does this have to do with him, Ron thought. "I guess maybe...," Ron's voice dropped to a whisper, "I'm attracted to him."  
  
Harry burst out laughing. "Thank God! Now I can be sure you're not dead!"  
  
Ron scowled. "What do you mean by that, Potter?"  
  
"Gods, Ron! I wouldn't be surprised if the entirety of the wizarding world was attracted to the man! Read any vapid wizarding magazines lately? He's plastered all over them! 'Sexiest Wizard Ever' here, 'Most Eligible Wizard Bachelor' there—"  
  
"Bachelor? He's single??"  
  
Ron's comment caught Harry off guard. Ah, Harry thought, I keep forgetting how clueless Ron is, and I better watch my words. "Draco's not with anyone, but that doesn't exactly make him single." It was Harry's turn to be unsure as he tried to think of how to say what was on his mind without messing up.  
  
"Not single? I don't get it." Ron was confused.  
  
"He's...well, he's got his mind set on someone in particular. Everybody knows that—they're all just waiting to see who."  
  
Ron thought for a moment, then asked, "Do you know who?"  
  
Harry sighed. "Yes." Harry waited for the next question, but it never came. He was somewhat relieved, because he was unsure of how to answer it, but also confused. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Ron. Ron was looking down again, disappointment etched on his face. Damn those dragons for making him so thick, Harry thought. "What?" he asked.  
  
Ron looked up. "If he's got someone in mind, why should I bother?"  
  
"Ron," Harry said tiredly, "do you want Draco?"  
  
"I...don't know. I think so...maybe."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, stop being so pathetic then and spend some time with the chap. _Sober_ time. Be his friend, and maybe he'll tell you who he wants, too."  
  
Ron wrinkled his nose. Friends, he thought, why didn't I think of that? "Friends...that never entered my mind."  
  
Harry chuckled. "Ah, so you want to jump between his sheets instead? Not a bad place to start, really..."  
  
Ron smiled wryly at Harry. "You never were a good influence."  
  
"Of course not. Never tried to be. So, is there anything else you need?"  
  
Ron looked thoughtful, and then asked, "When is the next Cannon's game?"  
  


***************************

  
  
The clock in the Potter library struck 6pm, and Ron wondered at the absence of Draco. After talking with Harry, he had done some thinking and decided that Harry was right. Ron indeed was attracted to Draco. If the freezing up, uncontrollable blushing, and unintelligible speech patterns were any indication, Ron's hedonist side would jump Draco at the next chance. Too bad I've killed all my hedonism with reason and hard work, Ron thought wryly. Damn dragons. That's why friendship was probably the next best thing. If Draco was already spoken for, then friendship is all Ron will ever get. It's better than nothing, Ron thought. The savior of the wizarding world can't be too bad in simple conversation, right?  
  
Hell, the savior of the wizarding world isn't bad in anything, Ron thought. Just look at him. "I'd like to," Ron answered aloud, and decided to check the house for him. He'd not seen Draco since the afternoon...in his room. A fresh blush colored Ron's features as he damned his early denial. It was Draco making the moves then, wasn't it? Although, in reflection, Ron couldn't exactly be sure of what occurred last night...maybe it was revenge—something like that. Who knows, Ron thought as he climbed the stairs.  
  


****************************

  
  
Bloody hell, Draco thought, bottle in hand. He'd spent the entire afternoon, getting drunk alone in his room. "I'm so sodding pathetic," he said aloud in a slurred tone. He'd consumed entirely too much—he had to get that image of Ron in his pajamas out of his head...after they kissed. Dammit, he had to get Ron out of his head, period. He didn't even remember getting out of his chair when he crossed to meet Ron, leaning over him,...torturing himself. What the fuck was going through my mind, Draco thought. He had left Ron's room this afternoon with a raging hard on. How the hell could he have done something like that? So much for being subtle. I probably would have been subtler if I would have grabbed his ass, Draco thought, and sat on the edge of his bed. He was still horny as hell, and drunk as hell on top of it. He ran a hand through his blond hair and took another swig from his quickly emptying bottle. "Pathetic," he said again, and laid across his bed on his stomach.  
  


****************************

  
  
Ron was walking back to his room, disheartened. Where was Draco? He'd searched the house—twice. He'd even considered asking Ginny or Harry if they'd seen Draco, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. On his second trip to the foyer, the picture that had spoken to him yesterday gave him an odd, knowing look today, and he'd been half tempted to ask her, too—but didn't. Truth was he was itching to know what the man was doing now. Ron had a plan of action. He was ready to act. Figures Draco is nowhere to be found, Ron thought. So instead of sit at the bar in the library again, he decided to go back to his room. He didn't know what he'd do, but it was better than catching the pitying looks from Harry every time he passed.   
  
Ron caught sight of his room down the hall. His door was closed, but the door directly across from it was open—a half a foot or more. Ron paused for a moment, then smacked himself in the forehead. Of course the only place he didn't look was in the bloke's own rooms. Stupid, Ron said to himself. He walked towards the room and heard someone speaking within, but he couldn't tell what was being said. Since the door was open, however, he could make an entrance like Draco did this morning, suave and assured. Ron smiled to himself as he approached the door and peeked.  
  
He saw Draco lying on the bed in the middle of the room, face down. Rather than bursting through the door, he stopped and furrowed his eyebrows. No use in waking the chap if he's asleep, Ron thought, but before he could turn away, the right arm twitched and caught his attention. He squinted and discovered that Draco was holding a bottle of vodka, Ron's poison from the prior evening. Don't tell me he's drunk in the middle of the afternoon, Ron thought, bemused. Revenge is definitely a possibility.   
  
However, just as Ron was going to enter the door, Draco rose to his knees, his head still downcast, and the vodka bottle still in his right hand. Ron froze, much worse than ever before. He couldn't even breathe and his eyes could not be torn away. Draco...Draco was nude, except for a white dress shirt that hung open languidly. His blond hair hung in his face, and his chest was bare. His cock rested in his lap, looking half-interested. Ron almost whimpered as he watched Draco bring the vodka bottle to his lips, tilting his head back—Ron could swear that Draco fucking _caressed_ the bottle with his lips and tongue before lowering it. Sluggishly, Draco rose to his feet to walk around the bed, and even his drunken stagger was strong and assured. Muscles flexed and moved under his skin, and he stalked like a tiger. Ron was afraid to gasp, afraid to blink, and the view of all of that pale, soft skin, and the power beneath...and his face—God help him, Draco's face—Ron had to get out of there, fast, or die at that very spot. With a flurry of freckles and red hair, he spun and jumped into his room as fast as possible, slamming the door.  
  
He leaned back against the door, eyes closed. Draco's image was burned into his mind. Ron's lungs burned their objection as he gasped for breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding. He ignored it all though. Voldmort dancing through his room in a pink tutu could not have taken his focus off of Draco, and _bloody hell_, his blood was hotter than it had ever been before in his life. He couldn't help the hand that undid his trousers and crept in to meet the hard and throbbing flesh. He moaned at the contact, closed his fist, and thrust. He could practically taste Malfoy's lips against his own, and he itched to feel that body close to him again. His rhythm increased as he thought again about all of that skin, the expanse of those muscles, that damnable dress shirt, and most of all, that fucking vodka bottle. Fuck, he wanted to be that vodka bottle. Lips encircling, tongue swirling...  
  
Ron groaned loudly, and with one insistent final thrust into his own hand, he came, shuddering. His legs weakened and he slid down the door with his pants around his knees—he hadn't gotten down that far. Elysian and Draco remained on his mind for a few brief moments, then reality seeped back into his conscious.  
  
"Sodding hell, I'm a fucking voyeur," he said, almost in whisper. What the hell was he doing? What the fucking hell?? God, this really takes the cake for stupidity, Ron thought tersely. What the hell did he think he was doing, staring at Malfoy like that?? Shit like that is against the law, for fuck's sake! "Oh God," Ron said, and put his dry hand against his head. How had this started? All he wanted was a fucking conversation, and now here he was, jacking off against the door, panting his hall mate's name. "Damn the open door," he said. "Damn the vodka. Just...damn."  
  


****************************

  
  
Draco froze. The door had just slammed. "What the...," he trailed off drunkenly, and turned to look at the doorway. "Hey...I thought I shut that," he slurred, and noticed that the door was open more than just a crack. Hell, anyone could see him...which got him thinking. "Wonder if anyone did see me...," he said, and walked towards the door and looked into the empty hallway. Everything was quiet. "Hmm...," Draco said, closing his own door. "I'm still gonna investigate."   
  
A tad clumsily, he looked around for a pair of pants to throw on, and when he found them, he struggled into them and set out, both bare footed and bare chested, except for the half-opened dress shirt. Almost tripping into the hallway, Draco wondered randomly why he'd yet to pass out. He approached Ron's door with a quiet sigh. Closed. Of course. He laid his hand on it sadly and closed his eyes.   
  
His eyes ripped open at the close sound of a loud, lusty groan, just from the other side. Draco jerked his hand back like he'd been burned and rushed back into his own room, careful not to slam the door. He stumbled back to his bed, his breath rushed and his head muddled. Dammit, nothing was making sense, he was too drunk, and he needed to think right now...but his last thoughts were drowned in the oncoming drowsiness that overtook him. He passed out on his bed with Ron's groan still ringing in his ears.   
  
  
  
  


_Do you wish to be notified of updates for this story?_  
**Join the mailing list!**  
How?  
  
1. Request it in a review.  
2. E-mail me a request at songbird333@adelphia.net with  
"The Irony Of The Dragon Tamer" or "TIOTDT" in the subject line.   
  



	7. Chapter 7: Common Desires

_Disclaimer:_  
  
I own neither Harry Potter nor any other character or creation of J. K. Rowling. Give her credit for the characters. Give me credit for the plot.  
  
  
_Notes:_  
  
This is my first attempt at a slash fic, and my second attempt at any kind of fan fiction ever. Constructive criticism is welcomed and flames discouraged. I hope you enjoy the tale.  
  
Okay, I think it's been about two weeks since my last update. I've been worse, so I'm not complaining. The boys are warming up, along with my idea for a mild plot, thank goodness. I haven't been sure where this story was going to end up, but now I have a destination in mind to write to. Its a good feeling. I'm down to one job again, but school is starting soon. I hope it will not affect my writing, and I'll try to not let it.  
  
Please note that I do not have a beta, so all mistakes are my own.  
  
To my readers, my favorite people in the world, thank you thank you thank you.  
  
  
  
  


**Chapter 7**

  
  
  
Knock, knock, knock.  
  
"What the hell...who is it?"  
  
"What do you mean who is it? This is _my damn house_! Now say come in so I can yell at you."  
  
Draco groaned. Ginny could lecture with the best of them. It must be genetic, he thought as he meekly replied, "Come in."  
  
The door swung open and Ginny stepped in only to sniff her disapproval. The room was completely dark. She heard Draco murmur, "God, what time is it?" as she marched over to the windows. With a brisk motion, she opened the black curtains and sunlight exploded into the room. "Fuck!" was Draco's complaint as she marched to the next window. In seconds, the dark room was filled with light. Ginny turned around. "Jesus, Draco, put on some pants," she said wryly.  
  
"Pants?" All Draco could do was question he squinted his eyes against the offending sunlight. Rather than searching for clothing, though, Draco reached his arm to the nightstand and fumbled around. "Where the hell is my wand..."  
  
Ginny walked over and picked it up from where it had rolled to on the floor. "Here."  
  
An incantation and a few moments later, Draco risked opening his eyes. At least he could think clearly. He looked around and found that Ginny's assessment was correct—he wore no pants. He looked up and saw Ginny, arms crossed and waiting impatiently. "What are you waiting for?" she demanded.  
  
Draco smirked. "What, no privacy? If Harry isn't doing it for you anymore..."  
  
Ginny scoffed. "Hurry up, you. I prefer to converse while both parties are fully clothed."  
  
"Really?" Draco cocked his head. "That's not what Harry tells me..."  
  
"Hurry up, you!"  
  
Draco snickered as he got up to find his pants. He didn't even remember taking them off again. Now putting them back on to go into the hallway, that he remembered. Being in the hallway...running back into his room. Now there's a memory that requires more thought...  
  
Draco finally found his pants, which were cast behind the couch. He put them on and passed Ginny to sit on the bed again.  
  
"Whew!" Ginny exclaimed. "You know, you are allowed to pass a day without saturating yourself in alcohol."   
  
Draco looked down and shrugged.  
  
"Draco, honey," Ginny moved to sit beside him. "This isn't like you. I haven't seen you this despondent since the war."  
  
Draco snorted and sharply motioned at his own door, intending the door across from it. Ginny sighed and nodded.   
  
"You guys are real sadists for putting him across the hall."  
  
Ginny bit her lip in a smile. "Well...we were just trying to make him more...accessible."  
  
"_Accessible_?? Hell with accessible, this is downright dangerous for Ron's health! Do you know how many times a day I plan on crossing the hall with the intention of fucking the freckles off of him?"  
  
Ginny had to laugh. "Seriously, Draco...the freckles?"  
  
"Gah, even his damn freckles won't get out of my head. I'm going insane."  
  
Ginny shook her head. "Well, neither of you has made the attempt to be the least bit sociable to each other, or anyone else in the house, for that matter. You're being a bad house guest, Draco Malfoy. Tsk tsk. All you and Ron do is brood in your rooms or get drunk and snog in my library!"  
  
"If we did that more often, then I wouldn't have half the problems I do now."  
  
"Draco! Talk to the boy! Have a conversation! Stop drinking yourself to misery—it is scary."  
  
Draco crossed his arms and huffed. He hated to admit it, but Ginny was absolutely right. It was ridiculous of him to isolate himself in his rooms and drink. He was among his closest friends, and never had reason to behave like this before. Look what Weasley is doing, Draco thought, it's almost as if he planned it, it's so akin to a prank at Hogwarts. Damn, he was being foolish.  
  
"Okay, okay, fine," Draco admitted to Ginny, "I'm acting totally out of turn. But can you blame me? I mean, my God, you know how long I've wanted Ron. You've complained about it often enough."   
  
At that remark, Ginny smiled. "True. You're wasting your chance, Draco. Who knows when another will come?"  
  
"All too correct. I'll stop acting the hermit." Draco glanced at the windows, then asked, "What time is it, anyway?"  
  
"It's nine o'clock. You can ready yourself for the morning and join us for luncheon at noon. How does that sound?"  
  
Draco smiled. "Noon it is."  
  


********************************

  
  
Imagine the luck, Draco thought as he descended the stairs to watch a tall redhead enter into the living room. He had paused to watch silently, tracking his prey skillfully, planning the attack. Some attack, he thought, I'm going to walk in and converse. Chuckling to himself, he continued his decent and entered the living room. He refused his legs the luxury of shaking nervously.  
  
"Good morning, Sir Weasley," he said jocularly, intent on forgoing the phantasmagoria of their last few meetings. Keep it light, keep it light, he repeated in his head.  
  
Ron looked up at Draco's entry. Recognizing the greeting's source, Draco was curious to watch a pleasant blush begin to stain the boy's freckled face. I'd like to taste that, his rogue libido interjected, only to be suffocated by logic. It seemed that Ron, rather than respond, preferred to stare, fighting the embarrassment that attempted to show on his features. It wasn't until Draco lifted a slim eyebrow that Ron remembered himself.  
  
"Oh, ah, ahem, yes. Good morning,...Draco." Ron looked away guiltily.  
  
Odd, Draco thought, and with a smirk, sat down on the settee next to Ron, not exactly close, but not far away. "See, now, that wasn't so hard." Ron only nodded and shuffled with the newspaper that was in his hands. Moving on, Draco questioned, "So, how was your evening?" Ron's eyes widened and, if at all possible, his blush developed into a deeper crimson. Guilt was practically written on his forehead. Odd indeed, thought Draco, and took the bait.  
  
"My, how guilty you look. Was it fun, or have you been a bad boy?" he asked, his tone light but taunting.  
  
"You really are evil, you know that?"   
  
Draco was thrown by that comment. What could he have been up to last night to earn this reaction, and what does it have to do with me, he wondered. It was time to pry.  
  
"I'm evil? Why do you say that?"  
  
"You know very well why." Ron refused to look at Draco.  
  
Draco chuckled. "If I knew, why would I ask?"  
  
"You mean...you don't know?"  
  
"Jesus, Ron, I was drunk in my room for the entire evening. Passed out, even."  
  
Ron looked up, concerned. "Passed out? Drunk? Why'd you do that?"  
  
Draco thought for a second, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. After a moment, he replied, "I suppose I was just in the mood." Then he looked away.  
  
"You suppose?"  
  
Draco didn't like where this was heading. "Yes, I suppose...and didn't you do the same a bit ago?" Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Draco interrupted. "Oh wait—I forgot. You don't remember."  
  
The blush that had been leaving Ron's countenance immediately made a U-turn. It was his turn to open his mouth and then close it again, unsure of what to say. Wow, Draco thought, this is too much fun. He couldn't stop himself from digging deeper, even if he tried.  
  
"Here, I've got an idea. A game, really. I'll sit here an guess what you did, and you can tell me if I'm right or wrong."  
  
Mortified, Ron replied, "I'm not telling you one bloody thing!"  
  
"Oh really? Fine then. I'll ask anyway, and judge by how much you blush."  
  
Ron looked shocked.  
  
"Let's see then...did it involve Harry?"  
  
"It most certainly did not!"  
  
"I thought you weren't going to answer," Draco drawled, amused. "If not Harry, did it involve...me?"  
  
Ron's eyes widened and he gasped, and most certainly, his flush grew. Draco was intrigued, and displayed his victory with a triumphant grin. Ron growled and jumped to his feet.  
  
"I refuse to let this go any further. If you don't stop, I'll leave!"  
  
Draco considered. He'd already found out that, whatever Ron did, he was on Ron's mind—definitely a positive thing. I can live with that, Draco thought, and set to placating Ron.  
  
"Alright, fine, Sir Dragon Tamer. I'll stop, for I don't want to risk losing your company," and Draco smiled charmingly.   
  
Hesitant, and still rose-hued, Ron sat down. He was still discomfited by Draco's teasing, but—honestly—the last thing he wanted to do was run out on the man. Quite the opposite, actually, Ron thought as he eased back onto the settee. Automatically, but a bit weakly, Ron replied, "There's no such thing as a dragon tamer."  
  
Draco only raised his eyebrows, then moved on. "What's interesting in the world of wizarding today?" he asked.  
  
"What?" replied a dazed Ron. Draco motioned towards the newspaper in his hands and tried to keep the smug smile off of his face. There's absolutely something here, he thought excitedly, and I can't wait to find out exactly what.  
  
"Oh! The newspaper...," Ron said, bumbling with it in his hands. "It's been so long since I've read one. I stopped ordering them a while ago—,"  
  
"You did? Why? I'd think that being so far away would make you want to keep up on current events, especially during the war."  
  
Ron looked thoughtful. "Actually, it was somewhat the opposite." He looked at Draco, who returned his gaze expectantly. Ron sighed and continued, "When I moved to Romania...I dunno...I felt separated from the rest of the wizarding community. Charlie kept up with the times. He even took trips once in a while to London or to the Burrow, just to keep up. Me...I dunno. When I'm with the dragons, it's just me and them. Nothing else matters. They won't let anything else matter."  
  
"But what about the time you're not with the dragons?" Draco asked softly.  
  
"It's...lonely."   
  
Odd, how a strong man who stood over six foot tall could so easily look like a forlorn child. Draco stared at Ron and wanted—so badly—to reach out and comfort, to hold and love. This was new territory, however. Ron's vulnerability was surprising—almost as much as Draco's urge to soothe and protect. God, I've never before felt this way, Draco thought, and yet I've always wanted to feel this way.   
  
Silent moments passed. Ron was too deep in his isolation to notice. When he did, though, he raised his eyes to Draco's. The depth that he found made him gasp and look away, his pulse accelerating. Draco realized it and abruptly cleared his throat. He thought wildly of a safe conversational transition, but Ron saved him by speaking.  
  
"Well, anyway, all I was doing was checking out the prospects for the Cannons," he said with an innocently.  
  
"Really? What do they say?" Draco was inwardly delighted at Ron's interest in the Cannons, and thought of it as his ace in the hole.  
  
"They say that this season should be phenomenal, what with Harry. And that silent partner, too." Ron leaned over and whispered as if sharing a secret, "You know, the Cannons are my favorite team."  
  
  
  
Draco, pleased at the ruse, replied in turn, "Is that so?" Ron nodded conspiratorially. "Yep. And it is killing me, not knowing who the silent partner is. I've known everything about that team for years, but this silent partner deal?" He leaned back and shrugged. Returning to a normal tone, he said, "I can't begin to think of who it could be. Harry, good friend he is, refuses to tell me." With that, Ron leaned back further on the settee and—to the dismay of Draco's libido—pouted. It took every restraint to not lean forward and taste. It was then Draco formed an idea.  
  
"Harry didn't tell you?" Draco asked in a dismayed tone. Ron shook his head. "Well, what would you say if I told you I knew?"  
  
Something flickered in Ron's eyes as he fought to keep the smirk off of his face. "I'd say you were lying."  
  
"Lying? Me? Not at all. I swear...," Draco looked around for something to swear upon, "I swear upon my wand that I _do_ know who the silent partner is."  
  
"Really?" Ron baited the blond man. "Would you tell me?"  
  
"Well, I don't know...he is silent for a reason...,"  
  
"Please?" Ron smiled playfully.  
  
"Well, how about a deal? If I tell you who the silent partner is...,"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Then you'll have to tell me what you did last night that has to do with me."  
  
Draco was smugly amused. Ron looked like he'd been slapped.  
  
"What?" He said, his voice raising.  
  
"I've set my price. You go first."  
  
Ron looked around uneasily. His game suddenly gone awry, he had nowhere else to turn. "Um," he said, "No. You go first."  
  
Draco grinned evilly. "Fine. You want the silent partner?" Ron gasped, but Draco continued, "You got him. I'm the silent owner."  
  
Weakly, Ron said, "You are not," trying to deter the conversation.  
  
"I am so! Want to see the paperwork?"  
  
"No, no..."  
  
"Fine, then, it's your turn."  
  
"Me? Um...,"  
  
"Yes?" Draco smirked. Ron's blush was delicious, and he couldn't help putting it there as often as possible.   
  
"I was...um...IsawHarryandGinnymakingout," he said in a rush. Draco noted that his blush didn't deepen—rather, it began to subside.  
  
"Liar. Tell the truth."  
  
"I am telling the truth!" Ron insisted, but the flush began to creep back up his neck.  
  
"You were not. Your blushing is the best lie detector I've ever seen."  
  
Ron couldn't think of a way out. He knew he was the worst liar on the planet, and there was nothing he could do. "Fine...I was...trying to save you the embarrassment."  
  
"Me?" Draco drawled, "Why is that?"  
  
"Cause I saw you stumbling around your room yesterday. Drunk."  
  
Draco chuckled. "Nude."  
  
Ron flinched. "Yes. I...thought you would be embarrassed,...so I slammed your door and went...to the library."  
  
Draco watched Ron closely, then smiled again. "Liar."  
  
"Okay, fine! I went to my room! Are you happy?"  
  
Draco chuckled. "And what did you do there?"  
  
Ron froze, a stunned expression on his face. There was no way he was admitting that, there was no way he was saying that aloud, and there was _absolutely_ no way he was telling Draco.  
  
Draco noted this reaction, and concentrated on remembering the evening before...being out in the hall...Ron's doorway...and suddenly, it hit him. By God, like lightning, realization seeped through, and Draco wanted to laugh hysterically, wanted to jump around the room, wanted to roar gloriously at his insane luck. The blushing, the gazing, the embarrassment—it was Draco's dream come true, and he thanked every last one of those damnable lucky stars in the sky as he leaned his way closer.  
  
Mere inches from Ron's shocked face, he whispered, "You _have_ been a bad boy...," and closed the distance, lips meeting.  
  
Ron gasped, still stunned. Draco. Lips. And then the thunder of realization, and Ron wrapped his arms around Draco, gasping. The only thought on his mind—more.  
  
Draco smiled against Ron's lips as he felt Ron begin to respond, and he placed one hand on Ron's bicep, the other flat against his chest, feeling the depth of his breaths, the strength of his muscles, the expanse of his skin below a layer of cotton. Sensation ripped even stronger desires from Draco's mind as he began to caress. Ron had begun to stroke the length of the blonde's spine, and Draco _needed_ more contact.  
  
Adjusting quickly, Ron found Draco between his denim clad knees, and gasped roughly at the sensation, throwing his head back, breaking their kiss. Oh my God, he thought, this is happening, this is really happening, God, do I _want_ this to happen—and then Draco's lips whispered across his jaw line to find his pulse and suck. Ron moaned and couldn't help the upward jerk of his hips, which created such a sinuous friction—he gasped as Draco groaned against his neck and thrust back down forcefully. "God," Ron said on a breath, and urged Draco's head back up. Lips met again. Draco sucked on Ron's lower lip, tempting them to open further.   
  
Draco's head was swimming as Ron skillfully used his tongue to explore. He almost lost his mind when Ron caught his tongue and sucked. Draco's hands rushed to Ron's hips as he thrust down again mindlessly, searching, needing. His hand drifted to the crotch of Ron's tented jeans, and gripped. Ron gasped again and halted his assault, allowing Draco to take over. He was so hot...so close...  
  
"Ahem! Boys!" a feminine voice sounded, and it took all of Ron's power to tear his lips away to find the voice's source.  
  
"Ginny!" Ron gasped, dazed.  
  
"Ginny...," Draco growled.  
  
"Well, _excuse_ me, but you are in _my_ living room. My _respectable_ living room."  
  
Ron was still dazed, still throbbing. He blinked a few times, and found himself on his back on the settee, Draco sprawled over top of him, their hips positioned just so...Ron lost his focus at the realization and almost groaned again.  
  
Ginny continued. "Anywho, lunch will be served in 15 minutes."  
  
"Damn it," Draco said under his breath, but replied, "Okay, thank you Ginny. We'll be there momentarily."   
  
"I'm sure you will," she said, "and no shagging in my living room." Then she turned and left.   
  
"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, and Draco looked down. The sight made him want to dive back in, but he reigned in his passion and rose to his feet. He reached down and pulled Ron to his feet, then pushed him out the doorway to the stairs.  
  
"Its best we shower before lunch," Draco said, and Ron simply nodded and began to climb the stairs. Draco couldn't tear his eyes away as he watched—that arse! When they finally reached their rooms, Draco stopped Ron and pulled his head down for a deep kiss. Breaking it, he put his forehead on Ron's and said, "Oh, this is _far_ from over." Ron gulped and nodded. Draco replied, "Okay, so long as you know that." He sighed, took one last look at Ron, and then went to his room. Ron stood there for a moment, then did the same, bracing himself for the icy shower to come.  
  
  
  
  
  


_Do you wish to be notified of updates for this story?_  
**Join the mailing list!**  
How?  
  
1. Request it in a review.  
2. E-mail me a request at songbird333@adelphia.net with  
"The Irony Of The Dragon Tamer" or "TIOTDT" in the subject line.   
  



	8. Chapter 8: Friendly Interaction

_Disclaimer:_  
  
I own neither Harry Potter nor any other character or creation of J. K. Rowling. Give her credit for the characters. Give me credit for the plot.  
  
  
_Notes:_  
  
This is my first attempt at a slash fic, and my second attempt at any kind of fan fiction ever. Constructive criticism is welcomed and flames discouraged. I hope you enjoy the tale.  
  
I had planned to have this posted by Monday morning. Here comes Wednesday morning. I'm improving. It's not a month...it's not even two weeks yet! Slow and steady improvements in my updating times...I just hope that the content is none the worse. *wink*  
  
Please note that I do not have a beta, so all mistakes are my own.  
  
To my readers, my favorite people in the world, thank you thank you thank you.  
  
  
  
  


**Chapter 8**

  
  
  
"My family, my friends, bon appetit." Harry waved his hand over the table and, in Dumbledore fashion, a decadent meal appeared before them. Draco smirked, and Harry returned the smile smugly as Draco silently mouthed the word, "showoff." Harry's smile grew wider.  
  
The Potter dining room was fitted with a charmed table that grew or shrunk to fit the number of guests. Today, the table was square, and decorated with an enchanted lace table cloth, whose woven figures conversed, ate, and danced gaily. Draco had to wince slightly at the starkness of the sunlight that burst through the windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. The day's weather was alluring. Draco's line of vision shifted slightly to the man who sat across from him. One would have to be blind to miss the way the sunlight reflected the citrus tints of hair and highlighted the pale, freckled skin. His study of his subject halted when a trepidious azure gaze met his own. Their eyes caught for a moment before Ron looked down. Alluring indeed, Draco thought, and he had to look away—he knew if he saw Ron flush again, he was going to drag him to his bedchamber and not let him out for hours. His fingers itched to pursue the thought.   
  
Ginny, watching her houseguests, tried not to snicker. I guess I can leave the womanly intuition out of this one, she thought, because these two are hooked, whether they realize it or not. She watched as Draco, amid the light conversation, inconspicuously but closely watched her brother. She caught his eye and raised her eyebrow in silent question. Draco raised his eyebrow in return, and slowly curled the corner of his mouth, almost to the point of imperceptibility—but Ginny noticed, just as Draco knew she would. She bit her lip to cover her smile. No doubt Draco knows exactly what's going on. I wonder if my brother sees it yet, she thought. Her eyes followed her thoughts. Ron looked from Harry to his plate, to Ginny, and back to his plate again. At least he was holding up his side of the conversation, which wasn't nearly as interesting as the scene Ginny was watching. She caught Draco's question, however, but not due to subject matter—rather, she caught her brother's expression.   
  
"When is the first practice for this season, Harry?" Draco asked, mischievous in tone. As if everyone here hasn't an inkling that Draco planned the practices for this season months ago. Ginny watched as Ron's vision chanced to focus across the table, rest a moment on the occupant, then fleetingly return to his plate. Ginny's gaze returned to Draco sharply. He looked back with a controlled expression—but his eyes, they spoke volumes—of wanting desire, longing, a friend and lover, and finding it all at once in the perfect package. The poor orphan waking Christmas morning to find everything he ever wanted beneath the tree. If what Ginny walked in on prior to lunch was any indication, then Draco's thirsting soul was defiantly about to be quenched.  
  
But my brother, Ginny's mind went on, how does he feel? It was hard to tell. Of course there was interest—sexual attraction, absolutely—but past that? There's no way that Ron would be able to see what he meant to Draco, Ginny thought. He's been gone, and he hasn't seen the changes we've seen in Draco, especially after the war. Draco the tormented, Draco the lost. He's almost isolated himself from the entire world, making any sight of him become wizarding tabloid fiascos. No one knew how alone the partial savior of the wizarding world actually was. He kept his mind busy with incessantly efficient planning for the Cannons, and he owned the pitch they played in, among other buildings and businesses. In his dark castle, alone, save the hired help, he kept to himself. When he wasn't at Malfoy Manor, he was at the Potter residence, but that didn't change anything. He was still hiding, but until Draco walked into the Potter foyer and saw Ron sprawled on his bum, Ginny had not realized it. How thick she'd been! She wanted to smack herself. Now, though, sitting at her table, Draco was leaving the cave that in which she hadn't noticed he'd been hiding. Her eyes returned to Ron again. A dragon tamer at his best, she thought, chuckling at the coincidence.   
  
"What?" Harry finally broke through Ginny's thoughts.  
  
"Oh, nothing. Why? What did you say?" She asked.  
  
Draco replied for Harry. "He said that the Cannons were going to have a wildly successful season."  
  
"Okay..." Ginny said.  
  
"And you laughed! I take that as an insult to the Cannons!" Draco said, then turned to Ron. "You're not going to let your sister talk down on your favorite team, are you?"  
  
Ron's eyes widened, and he was suddenly the center of attention. "Uh,...," he said. Draco's mock expression of shock made him chuckle in spite of himself, so he continued. "Of course not." Ron gestured towards Harry. "Especially not with such great leadership. He's your husband!"  
  
Ginny shook her head and smiled. "I wasn't—"  
  
"And!" Ron said, interrupting her, "What about the partial silent ownership? I'm sure that lazy bastard must be doing something to help the team."  
  
No one could miss the way Draco's head jerked forward, indignant frown on his face. Or Ron's teasingly triumphant grin, completely for Draco's benefit. The boy's playing with fire, Ginny thought gleefully. Another hermit was emerging.  
  
Draco, when he caught Ron's teasing smile, almost dropped his silverware. At first, he was dazzled. Innocent freckled shrugging beautiful grin...flirting...and then Draco was hungry. Starving. Wanted to pounce, yet again. Where was this famous Malfoy control? His skin was crawling for contact, and although his cold shower had momentarily calmed him, it did nothing to help the desire that rushed through his body—and sadly, there was nothing he could do to ease it. Well, maybe...Draco chuckled, then slid into a smile, completely inviting, and paired it with stretching his legs, and lightly kicking the set he met first. Ron's eyes widened for a second, then he chuckled. Draco was delighted to feel a playful kick in return. Smiling evilly, he thought, "Bingo," and slipped off his shoes.  
  
Ron was feeling victorious. He had succeeded in no  
t embarrassing himself, and even got in a playful jab at Draco. What could be better? He'll get to know the boy yet, but he could already tell they'd be great friends...maybe more. Ron was satisfied as he kicked Draco back, and turned to face Harry, intent on continuing the conversation.  
  
"So, Harry, when is the first pra—" Ron froze as he felt a warm pressure slide up his calf.  
  
Harry looked puzzled. "The what?"  
  
Ron's mouth hung open for a second, but then quickly shut. Below the table, the attacking foot seemed content in playing with the area behind Ron's right knee. Warm and arousing, it slid back down his calf again. Ron gulped visibly, but continued, "When is the first practice? You...uh, never answered before."  
  
Harry looked at Ron strangely, then looked at Draco, who looked intent on the conversation. There's defiantly something going on here, Harry thought, but I'll ask later. "The preliminary practice is actually tomorrow evening. You know, just to get the beginning of the season in order."  
  
"Ah, yes, that's—ah, ahem—good, yeeeeees..." Ron said, as toes drilled into a sensitive spot behind his left knee, and his eyelids fluttered closed, until he realized what he was doing, and then they shot open, the surprise plain to see.   
  
It took every ounce of Ginny's control to not burst, it was so difficult to contain her laughter. She tittered softly, but covered it up with a cough. Through Draco's stolid expression, he shot her a look that read, "Don't you dare."  
  
Ron knew he looked foolish, but those strong strokes up and down his calves...damn, it was _hot_. Aroused and panicked, he looked across the table, at the calm expression, into the silvery eyes, which spoke of dark secrets and promised to sate deep desires. Ron distantly realized that Draco had retreated from his podiatric assault only to be held captive by his eyes. His words from the hallway echoed in his head. _Far from over_—that didn't even begin to describe what Ron read in the other man's eyes.  
  
Silence hung in the air for a mite too long, and Ginny cleared her throat. Harry looked up at her, but the other two continued to stare. Ginny's expression was mixed between amusement and annoyance. Paired with a strong kick to Draco's leg, she cleared her throat again. Draco turned his head, his eyes flashing fire. Ron turned his head, his eyes showing embarrassment. "Well," Ginny said simply, biting her tongue. This was rich—it really was. Harry shook his head, amused.  
  
"Yes," Ron spoke, "yes. Cannons practice is tomorrow, is it? That's fine."  
  
"Absolutely," Draco said. "Harry, how do you fancy Ron and I coming to visit during practice, eh? It would be a good opportunity to check out the prospects for the future." Draco shot a grin at Ron before clearing the ambiguity. "Of the team, of course."  
  
Ah, Harry thought, there's much more going on under my roof than to which I'm privy. It's about time Draco got off his lazy arse and went for what he wants, and it's excellent that Ron seems interested in at least meeting him halfway. Harry would be a liar if he didn't acknowledge that his two closest friends were beginning to worry him, in their oddly similar loner qualities. They had both become celebrities of the wizarding world only to disappear into their own lonely worlds. Harry was hopeful for them now. Maybe this was the answer to helping them both.  
  


*************************

  
  
The day was coming to a close. Dinner had finished pleasantly, and the group had adjourned to the lounge to amuse themselves until the clock struck eleven. Politely, Harry and Ginny excused themselves, and Ron and Draco were left alone at the fire.  
  
Draco stared into the fire, the bright flames reminding him of the man sitting on the broad leather sofa mere feet away. He glanced at Ron. Ron was staring at the glass of champagne in his hand. He looked up when Draco snorted.  
  
"Jesus, Ron. You and I were never this silent around each other in school."  
  
Ron smiled roguishly. "Yes...we were always at each other's throats."  
  
Draco's eyebrow raised as his mind played on the phrase's innuendos, but he continued, "So, where did your shyness come from?"  
  
"_Shyness_? Me? What are you talking about?"  
  
Draco smirked. " You haven't said much to me all day, and we all spent it together. You, Harry, Ginny, and me. Either you've turned shy or your wine glass is a much more interesting conversationalist than I."  
  
"I...," Ron faltered. What could he say? "I don't...think I'm shy."  
  
"Oh? Are you afraid to talk to me?"  
  
"No,...I'm not afraid."  
  
Draco smiled. "No, I suppose not. A dragon must be more frightening, right? Or maybe not."  
  
Ron chuckled. "Don't worry. Neither you nor dragons scare me."  
  
"Is that so?" A smirk. "Maybe one of us should."  
  
Instantly, the mood changed. The air was saturated with the difference. Ron felt it immediately, so palpable was the change. His pulse quickened.   
  
Draco went on. "I suppose that we could be one and the same. Namesake, and all."  
  
"No, you're not the same as a dragon."  
  
"Really? Why?"  
  
Ron chuckled, and a blushed accompanied his answer. "I never kissed a dragon."  
  
Not fair. It wasn't fair at all. Draco was playing nicely by the rules, trying conversation, jokes, and avoiding most innuendos. Then Ron had to say that and break all the nice grip on control that Draco had. It was entirely an invitation, Draco justified in his head, and I'm not responsible for the consequences. Draco moved to the other couch. Ron looked up,...expectant.   
  
"You started it this time, you realize," Draco said as he sat down beside Ron and ran his fingers over Ron's mouth.  
  
"Yep." Ron's lips curved, and he kissed Draco's fingers.  
  
God, he was such a tease. Draco's hand flattened on Ron's freckled cheek as he closed in, and he kissed Ron slowly, alluringly. Draco groaned and carefully rose to straddle the other man's hips between his knees, on top again. Things were different this time, though. Slower and more languid. Less frenzied and more sensual. Ron's hands crept around Draco for the second time that day, traveling up to his hairline—hair that had so surprised him when Draco made his dramatic appearance only days ago. It was silken and lush, and Ron tingled at the sensation of it running across the sensitive skin between his fingers.   
  
Draco growled and his kiss grew more insistent as his arousal increased. The fingers in his hair never stilled as they trailed through his hair to the back of his neck. He shivered as they slid down across his neck to his chest, fingering the buttons.  
  
Ron pulled back and gasped, "God, you and your dress shirts." He fisted his hands in the fabric and pulled Draco's mouth back to his. Then he began to undo the buttons, one by one, revealing the expanse of pale skin that had him groaning against the door the night previous. He couldn't help but to touch.  
  
Draco felt fire as Ron's hands moved, ghosting across his chest, down his sides, across his back. He clenched his teeth when Ron's hands fisted came to rest on the sides of Draco's hips, clenching the black fabric, pulling the man closer and closer still. The contact was heated and maddening. Draco threw his head back as he moaned his pleasure. Ron took advantage and attached his lips to the crook of Draco's neck. The pulse that beat quickly there had been tempting him to taste. He sucked, nipping slightly.  
  
"Jesus," Draco breathed through his open lips as Ron's hands suddenly slid up his thighs, squeezing. He wondered faintly when he'd lost control of the situation until Ron recaptured his lips, all the while sliding his hands back from his hips...back. He stopped thinking entirely when strong fingers grasped the flesh they found, pulling him down, and closer still. His hips thrust forward uncontrollably, and he groaned against Ron's mouth, kissing that was all lips and teeth and tongue and heat. A fire borne of bright orange flame threatened to sear his skin and lips, and it was unstoppable, even if he'd wanted to...  
  
"Draco!"  
  
Ron stilled at the sound, and pulled away from the kiss.  
  
"What the...? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_." Draco clenched his fists in a blind fury as he heard the sound of someone coming into the lounge. Draco looked into Ron's eyes, because he had to see, before it ended, he had to see—and they were dark, hungry and dazed. "Fuck," he said again ruefully.  
  
"Draco, I—Jesus, not in my lounge, too!" Harry was shocked at the situation, Draco perched on Ron's lap—and he could tell Draco was livid. "Um, anyway," he began, "Sorry to interrupt, ahem,...whatever you were doing, but I just got an important owl about the Cannon finances. I, um," Harry paused again, because Draco whirled his head around and glared, still perched on his best friend. Oh well, he thought, they'll get to it eventually. "I really need you to look at it."  
  
Draco gritted his teeth and growled, "Fine, I'll be up in a minute."  
  
"Hey, now, don't think you guys can just—"  
  
"Jesus, Potter, give us a fucking minute!"  
  
Harry blinked. "Leaving," he spoke, and did just that.  
  
"Of all the fucking...," Draco growled, and eased himself off of Ron's lap. Ron looked up at him, wide-eyed. God, do I hate Harry Potter, Draco thought, bitterly amused at the irony. "Ron—"  
  
"Let me guess...this is far from over?"  
  
Draco bent down and kissed him ruthlessly. "Stop stealing my lines," he said, and left the room.  
  
Ron blinked again, and realized he was sprawled out in the Potter lounge, now cold and alone. "Great bloody way to spend a bloody vacation!" he cursed loudly, and brought his hand to his head.  
  
  
  
  
  


_Do you wish to be notified of updates for this story?_  
**Join the mailing list!**  
How?  
  
1. Request it in a review.  
2. E-mail me a request at songbird333@adelphia.net with  
"The Irony Of The Dragon Tamer" or "TIOTDT" in the subject line.   
  



	9. Chapter 9: Questioning Destination

_Disclaimer:_  
  
I own neither Harry Potter nor any other character or creation of J. K. Rowling. Give her credit for the characters. Give me credit for the plot.  
  
  
_Notes:_  
  
This is my first attempt at a slash fic, and my second attempt at any kind of fan fiction ever. Constructive criticism is welcomed and flames discouraged. I hope you enjoy the tale.  
  
Forget about me? I wouldn't blame you. Please know, readers, that although I've not updated in months, I absolutely have not forgotten about you all, or this story. It is my full intent to continue this story immediately, and I ask that you bear with me. I've had a bit of a rough semester, but I anticipate my next semester being easier, and therefore giving me more time to write. All I can ask is that you stick with me, and thank you for your continuing faithfullness.  
  
Please note that I do not have a beta, so all mistakes are my own.  
  
To my readers, my favorite people in the world, thank you thank you thank you.  
  
  
  
  


**Chapter 9**

  
  
  
Grumpy, frustrated—that didn't even begin to describe it as Ron downed one more glass of champagne. Only one, though, he thought. It was getting way too simple to drink his entire vacation away, alone. He tried not to think what that implied about the rest of his life. "Alone and drunk with the bloody dragons," he said through clenched teeth. He didn't notice his hand tightening on the empty glass flute until it shattered in his grasp. Surprised, he watched as the blood seeped through his clenched fist numbly. It dripped onto the hardwood floor. He jarred when finally a drop of blood slashed up from the forming puddle to mark the Potter settee.  
  
"Jesus, what the hell am I doing?" he asked aloud, and left the room swiftly to find a sink to wash his wound. In the bathroom, he ran the cold water for a few moments, and then placed his hand under the stream, and only then did he unclench his fist. His wounds weren't too deep, but they were deep enough—they surely wouldn't disappear with a healing charm before tomorrow. He shook his head, staring at his hand. The flesh beneath his rough skin was visible and pink. He sighed and glanced at the mirror, then froze, catching his own reflection.   
  
The dark circles under his eyes were evident in the Potter powder-room lighting, more so than they'd ever been. His hair was unkempt. He was dismayed at his reflection. He reached up to touch the glass incredulously, but drew back sharply when crimson streaked from his hand across the surface, cutting his reflection in half. Eyes wide, realization finally set in. "What the hell am I doing?" he breathed again. This was madness. How ridiculous did he look, living the past two days trying to get into the trousers of one of his oldest enemies? Yes, Draco was a good guy, and yes, they could probably be good friends, but still! This is Draco Malfoy, who made his childhood miserable, who made him ashamed of his past, who…  
  
Ron's thoughts trailed off as he dwelled. Trying to get into the trousers of one of his oldest enemies? Where the hell had that come from? He'd not thought of Draco for, hell, years. At least not since their tirades of Hogwarts. No, that was a lie…Draco popped into his head randomly, but not so much as this, as to be assaulting his lips and grabbing Draco into his lap at every chance! And when had he become so forward? This urge inside, it was nothing like the alcohol-rushed affairs he'd had back in Romania. Although alcohol was commonly involved here, he definitely wasn't drunk before. It was a conscious decision to tempt him in for another go. But damned if he could understand why. He was missing something here.   
  
He'd not felt so agitated in such a long time, he mused. So alive. Not really in all of his time studying with Hagrid, not in his time in Romania. The dragons made him happy, but there was something missing. Was it Draco? Draco who made him feel alive again? Hell, Ron was a gift to magical creatures and wizards alike, and although he came from a poor wizarding family, or was now a Romanian hermit—something just wasn't right. He'd never realized it before, because no matter what he'd been doing, it never seemed as important as Draco seemed—as Draco was—right then and there.   
  
Ron blinked and realized he'd been staring at his disheveled reflection for a while. A blush crept up as he recalled how he'd earned the appearance. His pursuit, he reflected, however misunderstood, had been rather persistent. He glanced down again, and noticed his wound had stopped bleeding, so he wrapped it up, cleaned the mirror, and headed back to his room.  
  
Once inside, he leaned against the door and sighed. For a moment he paused, and then he slowly opened his eyes and moved away, casting his eyes accusingly at the wooden frame. The position just felt too familiar. He retreated to the bed, casting off his shirt. His mind was still working. So I want Draco Malfoy, he thought, and not because he's attractive…well, really attractive…fuck it, he's delicious…but because he makes me feel things that I don't feel with anyone else. Right? That seems substantial enough for a relationship, doesn't it? Its more than just sex…whether we're fighting, glaring, conversing, or kissing, there's an energy there, and he's got to bloody well feel it, too. Right? So what was so bad about the pursuit? But how can it be more than sex? We've never even had sex yet! There was still something bothering him, and he couldn't quite figure it out. He yawned, stretched, and decided that it wasn't worth thinking about tonight. He pulled his socks and pants off and slipped into bed in his boxers. "I'll figure it out tomorrow," he promised himself as he dimmed the light.  
  


*******************

  
  
Ron entered the pub, pulling his jacket closer around him. Inside, a rough fire was roaring in the center of the room. Ron felt its warmth as he passed by, heading for the bar. He grabbed a stool and sat down, rubbing his hands together, glancing up. He found himself looking directly into the gray mists of the blond bartender's eyes. The bartender smiled and winked as if he knew what was on Ron's mind. Ron looked down, bashful, feeling the contrast of his wind burned face beginning to flush. His attention, however, was stolen by a rogue voice from the door.  
  
"Ron! Ron, my boy!" Charlie called, walked over, and grabbed the next wooden stool at the bar. He clapped Ron on the back, a brotherly show of affection and support. "How's the new young dragon that you herded from town last night?" To the bartender, he motioned, "A pint, good lad." He watched as the blond bartender moved to tend to his order, and said, "Sodding fool, that bartender."  
  
Ron opened his mouth to answer Charlie's surprisingly caustic comments, but he froze as his eye caught something on Charlie's sleeve. There was a black spider, round and bulbous with hairy legs. His mouth hung open as he felt an immediate stab of the old fear he'd harbored back at Hogwarts for the creatures. How foolish, he thought, I've worked with the creatures since then without problem. I should just brush it away. Try as he may, though, he was unable to lift his hand to lift the creature from his brother's inner arm, or was he able to tell Charlie of the spider's occupancy. Charlie moved on, not waiting for his brother's answer, jumping from topic to topic. Ron could not halt his growing anxiety as the spider crawled around. He wondered in the back of his mind how Charlie couldn't sense his distraction. Words rushed by, but the only thing that remained in Ron's conscious was the spider.   
  
"Oh, and did you hear about Draco Malfoy?"  
  
The spider was forgotten. Ron's head jerked up, and he looked his brother straight in the eye, and asked, "What about Draco Malfoy?"  
  
Charlie scoffed. "Seems like the ferret finally some scum that could stand him for over an hour. Haven't you looked at the Prophet lately? It's all over the front page—Draco Malfoy finds his mate." He moved his hands from left to right as he said the words, punctuating them with a burst of fingers. Ron stared at him, eyes wide. Charlie scoffed, and took a large gulp of his pint, tipping back his head. As he finished the drink, he wiped his mouth and eyed Ron warily. "What? What's stolen your tongue, eh?"  
  
Finds his mate. No, that couldn't be. Ron opened his mouth to speak, but something grabbed his attention again. The spider had jumped, and he looked down at Charlie's sleeve to find that it had grown larger and seemingly more intimidating. He stammered.  
  
"About bloody time the bugger quits taking up the news, that's what I say," Charlie continued, ignoring Ron's distraction. "The man's bad blood, and the least I hear of him, the better. They say he's with a lad, too. A bloody fag, to boot."  
  
Ron's eyes jerked back up to his brother's face again. What? he thought, Charlie's never been so bigoted before...hell, Charlie's slept with more men than anyone I know! And then the spider jumped again, and began crawling up Charlie's bicep, up the flannel material, and it grew and grew. Ron began to sweat. He tried to move his arms to shoo the creature, but he just wouldn't budge.   
  
"The bugger's a menace to society!" Charlie barked, his eyes bulging. He began to breathe heavily, and with every breath, he grew taller, larger. The spider, about the size of Ron's fist, crawled onto Charlie's shoulder as Charlie seethed. Ron looked around as people began shouting and running, and suddenly, Ron was running too, out of the pub, out of the clearing, but he couldn't escape. Once he was out of the pub, he ran, but was caught by a large dragon, larger than any species he'd ever seen, and it roared and blew fire and brimstone, and Ron knew—he just knew—the dragon was Charlie.   
  
"He's wrong! A freak! He should be killed!" Charlie roared, and Ron could see that Charlie had the blond bartender in his grasps, was crushing the poor kid, and the spider was crawling around his feet.  
  
"Ron, help me!" The bartender called weakly before his mouth was smothered by force of the dragon.  
  
Ron sprang into action. He cast a spell that he'd never heard before, but it sounded something like acceptance, and the dragon went down, crying terribly, cursing Draco and Ron. The spider squealed and shrunk with the defeated dragon until it was smaller than a thumb. Ron sighed as the dragon lay on the ground, and watched as the bartender ran up to him and threw his arms around him, kissing him heatedly. Surprised, Ron drew back only to find Draco's smiling eyes in front of him.   
  
"Anywhere, Ron, where ever you go. I'll follow you anywhere," Draco whispered into the air, and then resumed the kiss. Ron heard his name over and over on Draco's lips, and he smiled as he drew back and opened his eyes.  
  
"Well, Sleeping Beauty. Sweet dreams?" The same voice drawled as Ron smiled into gray eyes. Ron was about to reach up for another kiss when he paused for a moment...dreams?  
  
Draco wasn't moving, and it was then Ron realized that Draco was poised above him, and further more, that he was lying down—and then it dawned on him—he'd been dreaming!  
  
"Ah!" Ron shrieked, and Draco jerked back. Ron jumped upright and scrambled back against his bed board, eyes showing his shock.  
  
"Ron! What is it? What's wrong?" Draco asked, worried.  
  
"You! Wha...hey! You! How, er, what are you doing in here?"  
  
Draco frowned. "We're going to watch the Cannons today, so I thought I'd...uh, wake you." He paused, and Ron's eyebrow rose as he sensed that Draco was a bit unsure of his actions. "I didn't know you were going to freak out like that."  
  
Oh. Ron digested the information with a sigh. "I don't usually freak out like that. I just had a—," and Ron shivered as the details of the dream undulated into his conscious.  
  
"A what? A nightmare?"  
  
"Um,...kinda. It was more a pretty blatant manifestation of my subconscious...," Ron thought aloud," so, yeah...I'm pretty fucked up."   
  
Draco laughed. "Well, at least you've got your diagnosis, Sigmund. I can live with that. However," he said as he stood and bowed dramatically, "I cannot live with you leaving the house—with me—in those pajamas." He paused for a moment, then continued with a smirk, "Unless leaving the house isn't in your plans. Either works with me, but in both situation, you will be loosing your flannel pants."  
  
Ron chuckled to hide his blush. "And see, I like these pants, too. I thought they looked good on me."   
  
Draco widened his eyes and laughed. "Hell no, even I'm not taking that bait." Draco grabbed the comforter and yanked, uncovering Ron clad only in those lucky pajama bottoms. He crossed his arms as he surveyed and said, "Are you sure you want to see the Cannon's today? I mean, I own the damn team, and, hell, I could parade them past you in tutus tomorrow afternoon..."   
  
Ron was off the bed and heading for the shower. He brushed a kiss across Draco's lips and laughed. "Somehow, I don't think Harry would be up to that idea." Before entering the shower, he said, "Anticipation makes it all the sweeter, Draco."   
  
Growl. "Get in the damn shower before I hex and jump your ass."   
  


*******************

  
  
The day was beautiful, and why shouldn't it be? Draco had practically ordered it so, and he'd be damned if something foolish like the weather was going to fuck up his perfect day with Ron. Yes, perfect, and so what if Ron could tell on the ride over that he was on edge? Today had to go successfully, and that's all there was to it, because now that Draco had found Ron, he wasn't ever letting go. Crazy, forever thoughts, though—he should keep them to himself, at least until after the first week.   
  
The first week. Draco couldn't help grinning at that—barely contained the dance of glee. Finally, after a world of negativity telling him it would never happen, he was sitting next to Ron Weasley, running his fingers along the hem of Ron's jeans, waiting to introduce Ron into his world, eager to offer Ron a permanent position there. If Draco knew for a fact that this wasn't just a whim, that Ron wouldn't rethink this in days or weeks, then hell, they'd elope tonight. It was hard enough keeping his hands to himself. His restraint was the final proof, though. If it was anything less than love, Draco would have domineered the entire meeting from the first instant. No, he was taking it slow, or at least trying to take it slow. He just wanted to be sure that Ron wanted this, too. Damn it, Draco thought as he glanced at Ron, who was staring out the vehicle window at the passing sights. This car ride is far too long, or we're far too silent, he mused, because I'm thinking far too much. Draco continued to mindlessly run his fingers along the hem of Ron's denims, and smiled to see the blush creeping over the other man's face. He ran his fingers further up Ron's thigh, still seemingly innocent, until he gave a harsh tug to the belt loop on Ron's hip. Startled, Ron jerked away from the window towards Draco. Draco swooped in for a quick kiss.   
  
Ron chuckled, still blushing. "What was that for?"   
  
"My own peace of mind," Draco replied. "This ride is taking far too long." Ron's expression changed, and Draco was both amused and aroused at the fully-grown, pouting red-head. He laughed and said, "Ron, don't pout—it's dangerous."   
  
"I'm not pouting! I haven't seen downtown London in years…" Ron exclaimed, crossing his arms, his lower lip conspicuously protruding. "And why is pouting dangerous?"   
  
Draco shook his head. Someday, the man will learn, he thought as he caught Ron's lower lip between his teeth, teasing with his tongue. Who was he to complain, so long as Ron never stopped kissing like that? "Being in the car with you this long makes me want to show you something other than the sights," he gasped against Ron's lips.   
  
Ron burst out laughing. "When did you become so fond of puns?"   
  
Draco feigned hurt. "They're not puns. They're innuendo. Double entendres. There's a difference."   
  
"There is? What's that?"   
  
Draco smirked. "Destination."   
  
Ron couldn't hide the grin as he admonished Draco. "You know what, Draco? You really need laid."   
  
Draco rolled his eyes. "Well yeah. Duh."   
  
The vehicle rolled to a stop, and Ron glanced out the window. "Where are we heading?"   
  
"The practice pitch for the Cannons."   
  
Ron looked confused. "I thought you guys practiced in Devon."   
  
"Well, usually we do, but Harry and I decided to have a go with the team at Harry's London pitch. It's in that building, there." Draco pointed to a worn-looking building down the road from where the vehicle had parked. "It looks small, but it's actually quite adequate—for an indoor, that is. Nothing beats an outdoor pitch, you know, but as far as indoor facilities go, Harry's running the best."   
  
"The pitch is just Harry's?"   
  
Draco chuckled. "Well, as far as everyone else knows. Come on, let's go."   
  
They approached the black phone booth near the alley between two dark buildings. Draco punched in a series of numbers, saying them aloud. "9-3, 7-4-2-5-5, 2-6-6-7-8-3-7."   
  
A disembodied voice said, "Welcome to the Chudley Quiddich Facility. Please state your name and business."   
  
"My name and business?" Draco snorted. "It's Draco Malfoy and…guest." He winked at Ron. "Now let me in my own damn building."   
  
"Oh!" the voice said, startled, "Mr. Malfoy, I apologize! Its just that—well, you usually apparate, and—"   
  
"And I'm still outside the building," Draco said sarcastically.   
  
"Right away, Mr. Malfoy," the voice said, sharp and nervous.   
  
The booth lowered and the men were taken into the lobby of the facility. Ron looked around in awe at the interior of the building. There were many more people than he expected. "Wow," he said, "I didn't know it was public."   
  
"Well, it wouldn't be fair to have a perfectly good pitch in the middle of London and not allow other wizards to use it, would it? Think of it like a Muggle ice skating rink, only much bigger."   
  
"A what?"   
  
Draco laughed. "I'm not sure either. It was Harry's comparison, just like this place was originally Harry's idea. On a different note, would you like to go to my private box to watch practice? The pitch should be clearing out in minutes. Many of the people here will stay to watch the team's official practice. It should be pretty successful today." Draco grabbed Ron by the arm and led him towards the private stairwell that led to his box.   
  
"Draco Malfoy!" A female voice called out shrilly.   
  
Draco paused, then groaned.   
  
"What?" Ron asked.   
  
"Already?," Draco replied, more to himself than to Ron. He turned around and found himself faced with shrewd, sixty-something looking woman. "Rita Skeeter," he said in a saccharine-sweet tone of voice, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"   
  
"Rita Skeeter?" Ron blurted, his eyes bugging. "Wow, you got—" He stopped himself before he said, 'old,' and said instead, "uh, new glasses!"   
  
Rita turned to eye the tall red-haired man. "Do I know you, sir?" She thought, and said, "You do look awfully familiar…have I ever written an expose? Of your love-life or something?"   
  
"Rita," Draco interrupted, "let me introduce you to Ron Weasley."   
  
"Ron Weasley?" Rita squealed. "The Ron Weasley? The Dragon Tamer?"   
  
"There's no such thing as a 'dragon tamer.'"   
  
"Of course not," Rita said to appease him. "How do you do, Mr. Weasley! Please, let me call you Ron—so, Ron, what are you doing out of Romania? Romania! Yes, I knew I've seen you before! I wrote a piece on your talents back when you were graduating! It was a good piece, if I do say so myself, although it was shadowed by the war and all, and I was just getting back on my feet again—"   
  
"Rita," Draco said, the tone of his voice harsh, "if you wouldn't mind, practice is about to begin, and we're heading to watch." Draco's hand found Ron's arm again.   
  
Rita watched the action with her eyes, then gasped slowly. "You! You two are a couple, aren't you?" Headlines ran across her eyesight, then she hurried on to speak, "Draco! And all this time, I've been dying to pin you with a young debutante! You clever boy!" She reached her wrinkly hand over to pinch Draco's cheek. Draco pushed her arm away, annoyed. Ron grew red with embarrassment. "Well, let me leave you two to, well…you know! You tame that dragon, Ron!" She squealed again, and then rushed away, her hands already digging in her crocodile purse for parchment and her faithful Quick Quotes Quill.   
  
"Damn it," Draco said, and then he looked at Ron. Ron's eyes were wide with bewilderment. Damn it! Draco thought, she's going to scare him away! I just hope he doesn't have any qualms with his name next to mine in the society pages. "Come on, let's go. The damage is done now."   
  
Ron blinked. Damage? Why was Rita Skeeter seeing him with Draco damaging? Unless it had something to do with the person Draco wanted—especially if it wasn't him. The thought struck Ron, and he began to get nervous. If Draco wants someone else, then what the hell am I doing here?, he thought, but followed Draco up to his box.   
  
They reached the door to the private box. Decorating the door was a silver serpent. His eyes were brilliant with green gem stones. It hissed as Draco murmured the incantation to open the door, and then they were admitted into the room. Ron's doubts were put on hold at the beauty of the room. The floors were a dark wood, there was a fully stocked bar, a roaring fireplace, and a comfortable looking emerald set of furniture. It was like a comfortable lounge.   
  
"How do you watch Quiddich in this room?" Ron asked.   
  
"Watch," Draco instructed, and found his wand. Another incantation, and the walls of the room disappeared, giving both occupants a full view of the entire pitch area.   
  
"Woah," Ron said and approached the missing wall. "Are they still there, or just invisible?"   
  
"See for yourself."   
  
Ron extended his hand forward cautiously only to have it meet some invisible barrier. He laughed. "Wow, who developed that?"   
  
Draco chuckled. "I guess you could say it's a spell I've been working on developing for a few years. So, do you want anything to drink? Sit down, the practice is starting."   
  
Ron moved towards a comfortable chair by the fire. "I'll just have some water, thank you."   
  
"Water?" Draco wrinkled his nose. "I don't think I have water...here, have some champagne."   
  
"Of course," Ron sighed, "Champagne."   
  
"What's wrong with champagne?"   
  
"You're just not hiding your plan very well."   
  
"My plan?" Draco said as he raised his glass to his lips.   
  
"To get me drunk and seduce me later tonight."   
  
Draco paused, his drink halfway to his mouth. He looked at Ron pointedly. "Believe me, when I seduce you later tonight, it won't matter if you're drunk."   
  
Ron snorted. "Really? What makes you so sure?"   
  
"What, that I'll succeed?"   
  
"No, that you'll be the one doing the seducing."   
  
Eyes met for a moment, clashing fire with fire. Ron grinned impishly. Practice is going to be far too long, Draco thought. "Fine, I'll keep your champagne, then."   
  
"No, hand it over. I'm thirsty. Oh look, here comes the team." Ron pointed, growing excited as they pushed off the ground for some flight exercises.   
  
Draco brought Ron's glass over from across the room and sat on the couch nearby. He handed the glass to Ron, his fingers brushing against Ron's, the skin he met rough, calloused. Waiting for those big hands on his skin again...yes, for once, practice was going to be far too long.   
  
  
  


_Do you wish to be notified of updates for this story?_  
**Join the mailing list!**  
Send a blank e-mail to:  
tiodtd-subscribe@smartgroups.com.  
  
Thanks!

  
  



End file.
